


Fading Light

by maisiec33



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Feels, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Redemption, Possessive Lucifer, Protective Lucifer, Protective Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Sick Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maisiec33/pseuds/maisiec33
Summary: Chloe Decker knows that Lucifer will do anything to protect her. She doesn't know why he acts like he does sometimes, but she doesn't mind anymore, because he's her Lucifer and their relationship is beginning to blossom.Soon, though, Lucifer realises that his mortality sitch goes further than originally thought, but he can't bring himself to separate from her.He's dying. And she's the cause.
Relationships: Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel/Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Dan Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar, Ella Lopez & Lucifer Morningstar, Mazikeen & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 68
Kudos: 217





	1. Falling feathers

~He watches the feathers flutter helplessly to the floor in abject terror. They’re dying before his eyes, and there is nothing that he can do.~

Chloe rolls her eyes as the roar of the Corvette engine outside signals her fashionably-late partner’s arrival at the crime scene. Despite being on the job for years at this point, he’s still seemingly oblivious to the idea of turning up on time.  
She pulls her eyes away from the victim whose death they are currently investigating just in time to see his suave figure enter the room, fiddling with his cufflinks. He flashes her one of his award-winning smiles to distract from his obvious lateness, and strolls up to the crime scene in a casual manner, like he’s choosing from a drinks menu in a bar rather than encountering a corpse. He’s strange like that, Chloe’s observed. He can approach a dead body with no more disgust than if it were a cute puppy, but if Trixie gets near to him without washing her ‘grubby little paws’, he looks on the verge of a panic attack...  
‘Who’s this unfortunate soul, then?’ he asks, gesturing nonchalantly towards the victim.  
Compassionate as always, Chloe thinks. She runs through the information she’s been given so far as Lucifer crouches by the body, tilting his head in that adorable childlike way when he’s trying to figure something out.  
‘His name is James Farnham, a lawyer from Mississippi.’ She informs him, flicking through her notes. ‘Guy’s a bit of a mystery so far, Ella’s just working on cause of death.’  
Lucifer observes her with a bemused expression. ‘I imagine it’s that stab wound.’ He points to the corpse’s chest, where there’s a clear gash encrusted with dried blood that darkens the white polyester shirt.  
Chloe snorts, half-annoyance and half-amusement. ‘Yeah, we gathered that, smartass. Unfortunately in reports we have to be a little more specific than just ‘stab wound’. Thanks for the input, though.’  
He grins at her, a smile that seems far too smug considering his fairly lacklustre contribution.  
‘A pleasure as always, Detective. Any idea so far as to why somebody wanted this poor sod dead?’

She examines her notes pointlessly, knowing full well that they haven’t got any leads. The crime was clean, with no murder weapon in sight, and the perpetrator had clearly gone to great efforts to not be discovered by police. The forensic team had scoured the residence for prints and come up empty, leaving the detective and her ‘crime-solving Devil’ to put the pieces together- notably without any pieces. 

‘Not yet. I’m just about to head to our vic's workplace to see if that gives us any more clues- you coming?’

He looks bewildered that she’d even ask him. ‘Of course I’m coming, Detective! You couldn’t possibly solve the case without me.’ 

From the mischievous sparkle in his eye, it’s clearly meant to be a joke, but his words are truer than he knows. Ever since Lucifer’s inauguration to the LAPD, Chloe’s solve rates have been through the roof. She knows that it’s not only due to him, but for some unknown reason he always manages to slip in an inappropriate joke at the right moment that sparks some dormant investigative part of her brain and makes everything seem clear. 

They approach her cruiser and she suddenly remembers his Corvette.  
‘What are you going to do about your car?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that’ he says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ll pop down here later and bring it back to Lux. One of the joys of being able to fly, even if your wings are a damned nuisance that your father slapped onto your back one day.’

He says it so casually that Chloe has to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes again. It’s been a few years, sure, but one thing she can never really get over is this metaphor he clings onto. Why, of all creatures, would he choose to portray himself as the most hated figure in history? That’s a mystery even her top-level detective skills have thus far been unable to solve, but maybe one day he’ll break down his walls enough to explain everything to her. 

She gets into the driver’s seat of the cruiser and he slips into the passenger side, fiddling with the radio before she gets the chance to stop him.  
‘I believe it’s my turn to choose the music, Detective' he affirms, and pulls out a CD from his suit pocket, because of course he has random discs on his person, he’s Lucifer. A quick peek at the CD surprises her; his music choice for the day isn’t what she would have expected.  
‘Mozart? I didn’t take you for a...’ The words trail off in her mouth as she realises that a ‘classical guy’ pretty much explains Lucifer to the tee. His penthouse is stacked with priceless artefacts and he dresses constantly in a three-piece suit, after all. 

‘Yes, well, Amadeus was an interesting fellow. Quite the party animal, actually, I remember quite a few wild nights filled with alcohol and opioids. That’s where the best music came from.’

She huffs out a laugh at the remark and starts the ignition, trying to ignore the backwards ramblings of her passenger. 

****************************

The visit to the law firm doesn’t initially yield much, but a vague admission from one of the victim’s colleagues saves the visit from being entirely useless. She’s standing before the desk of the woman, a prim and proper looking lady with her thin grey hair pulled tight into a bun. 

‘You say one of Mr Farnham’s cases was difficult. What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, most of the clients we get here are less than favourable, but one that James dealt with a few years back was even more so than usual. Oscar Hernandez, I believe his name is- he was sent to prison on charges of assault after the case fell through.’ She’s answering Chloe, but the furtive glances at Lucifer are telling that she’s one of the people who fall for his ‘magnetic’ nature. 

‘What’s the significance about that, though? If he was sent to prison, surely he wouldn’t have been able to kill James.’

The woman glances around, checking for eavesdroppers, and leans in closer. ‘He was released just last week.’ She seems to take a huff of Lucifer’s cologne as she pulls away from them, eliciting a throaty chuckle from him that makes her blush profusely. 

Chloe quickly thanks the woman for her time and drags Lucifer out behind her before he can bed their only source of clues in the investigation, shaking her head but failing to hide the smile that creeps up on her. 

‘Apologies, Detective' he grins as they walk towards the car. ‘She couldn’t help herself.’  
Chloe snorts at the admission and opens the cruiser door.  
‘Just get in the car, Lucifer.’

Soon, they’re back at the precinct and the detective is searching the LAPD’s database for information on the latest suspect, Oscar Hernandez. He’s a burly man, Mexican and covered in tattoos, with eyes that pierce through his mugshot and stare at Chloe past the computer screen. His record shows that he’s been involved with a few felonies before, but they’re only minor compared to the murder he’s now a major suspect in- shoplifting, possession of drugs, assault etc. 

She doesn’t even notice Lucifer at first, until she hears his sultry tones behind her.  
‘Scary man.’ He notes, and she can feel his hot breath on her neck.  
‘You bet. Not a big-time criminal, though.’  
When he speaks again, his voice is a purr that sends shivers down her spine.  
‘...Perhaps. Or perhaps he just hasn’t been caught.’

She considers the possibility, half considering the case and half in an attempt to distract herself from the heat she can feel between her thighs. Not now. She’s at work, and Lucifer is a colleague. That’s all.

Whatever the deal with Hernandez, Chloe knows she has to investigate him, especially since he’s their only plausible lead and the circumstances of the murder are too suspicious to ignore. She pulls up his address on the screen and makes a note of it on her phone, already standing up to pay him a visit. Her mind is so focused on going to see the suspect that she forgets Lucifer’s close proximity, and she nearly bumps into him on her way up. He laughs and stands aside for her, obviously enjoying the redness flooding her cheeks from embarrassment. 

‘Easy, detective.’ He teases. ‘Are we off to catch a murderer, then?’

‘Possibly- we need to check out Hernandez. He could be our guy.’

‘’Well, chop chop then! Let’s bring the nasty reprobate to justice!’

His enthusiasm never fails to encourage her. They’re out of the door in a flash. 

************************************  
When they arrive at Hernandez’s address, Chloe can’t help but feel slightly on edge. She’d dealt with a great many criminals in her time, but the eyes in that mugshot were seared into her brain and she wished she could just forget them. 

Lucifer must have noticed her anxiety, because he pauses before stepping out of the car.  
‘Are you alright, Chloe?’

It’s stupid, but the use of her name makes her blush.  
‘I’m fine, just a little nervous. He didn’t exactly look like a big sweetheart on the database. Maybe I should’ve brought backup.’

He comforts her with a gentle touch on the shoulder, eyes soft.  
‘Nonsense, you’re the best officer on this force- you have nothing to worry about. Plus, I’m here, and you know that I’d never let anything happen to you.’

The thought is reassuring, and she knows it to be true. He’s risked life and limb multiple times in order to protect her, and he’s vowed multiple times that he’d do anything to keep her safe. In spite of his peculiar nature and unnaturally lacking understanding of basic human emotions, he’s like her guardian angel, and she loves him for it. 

‘I know. Come on, let’s get him.’

She keeps her hand hovering over her gun after knocking on the door, expecting at any second the sight of the towering murderer in front of her. A few seconds later, a giant shadow obscures the light coming through the glass of the door, and the latch unlocks. Hernandez stands before her, wearing a bushier beard than in the mugshot and a slightly stained white tank top. Chloe doesn’t miss the way that Lucifer steps slightly in front, as if hoping to act as a ‘human that thinks he’s a celestial' shield in case if emergency. 

‘LAPD’ she informs him, flashing her badge. ‘Oscar Hernandez, we’d like a word.’

Contrary to her expectations, he opens the door and invites them in with a sweeping paw and an accepting grunt. Lucifer has to duck to pass through the doorway, but soon both him and Chloe are walking through the suspect’s house. 

It’s not as she expected it to be by any means. Faded family pictures grace the walls, some sporting images of a beaming younger boy- who Chloe assumes is Hernandez- seated on a bike and waving at the camera, shrubbery and trees behind him. Another picture shows a younger girl with her scrawny arms around the same boy’s neck, her dark hair stark against the bright light cast by the Sun. Hernandez leads them to a living room area, and gestures for them to sit down. 

He speaks properly for the first time, his voice gruff and grating with a distinctly foreign accent. ‘Would you like something to drink? I can make you tea or coffee if you’d like.’

The offer is surprising, and Chloe stutters slightly out of shock. Lucifer helpfully takes over for her.  
‘I believe we’re both okay, Oscar, but thank you anyway. I’m more of a whiskey person anyway.’

Oscar laughs, his huge beard swaying with each movement. ‘I’m quite fond of a good whiskey, as well. How can I help?’

Finding her voice again, Chloe speaks this time. ‘We heard you were released from prison about a week ago. How did you find it in there?’  
He smiles at her, eyes crinkling at the sides, and she notices that his expression is far kindlier than that of the mugshot.  
‘It was good for me' he admits, fumbling with his fingers. ‘I was a bit of a runaway as a youth and then as I grew up, but being inside helped me to straighten out.’

‘So you don’t hold a grudge against the lawyer who let you go there?’ Lucifer interjects after a few seconds, brow creased in confusion. 

‘Not at all’ Oscar exclaims, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t be who I am today without jail.’

Chloe watches as the cogs in Lucifer’s brain turn and he desperately tries to wrap his head around how a person could be so friendly towards a person who had apparently failed him.  
‘So you didn’t kill him, then? Mr Farnham?’

The bear-like man on the sofa looks crestfallen at the discovery of his lawyer’s death, not guilty.  
‘James is dead?’ he croaks. ‘Oh...oh, no.’ His head falls into his hands and he stays still for a moment, taking the information in. Lucifer looks utterly perplexed and slightly uncomfortable.

Chloe nods sullenly. ‘Yes, he was killed only yesterday. A stab wound.’

Hernandez looks up, eyes glassy, lip trembling. ‘If you were going to ask me, I did not kill him. I would never have killed him. Never.’

That’s enough for Chloe, and judging by Lucifer’s pained look, it’s sufficient for him too. 

*********************************************

They’re back at the precinct, searching for the missing information, when Lucifer yawns. 

For normal people, yawning is a simple reflex. It’s something that happens when your body is tired, or you’re bored, and it decides to show it in the most outward way possible. Chloe herself often yawns after a long day at work, or as she’s watching TV late at night and realises that she needs sleep to live. There’s nothing unusual about it, whatsoever. 

Lucifer, however, never yawns. 

She hadn’t noticed it until now, but upon closer reflection, she knows that she’s never seen him yawn- not once. Except for this instant. 

He himself seems surprised by the involuntary action, blinking sluggishly and then registering it and shooting a confused look at her.  
‘Did I just...yawn?’ His tone is a mixture of uncertainty and pure terror that makes Chloe snigger. 

‘I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. It’s normal, don’t worry!’

He raises his eyebrows at her, before gesturing to himself. ‘Yes, but I don’t yawn. I’ve never yawned. Ever.’

She finds that hard to believe. Shrugging, she gets back to her work.

She’s already forgotten about it by the time she’s back at her apartment that night, though Lucifer sure as Hell hasn’t. While she’s making dinner for Trixie and scrolling through her phone, he’s stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. 

Nothing looks different to him, but he feels a little different. He wouldn’t say that he feels unwell, per se... Just slightly off. 

To be certain that everything’s tip-top, he unsheathes his wings and lets them fill the space in his bedroom, flexing the muscles in his back that mostly remain unutilised. The glow on his feathers is radiant as always, and that’s enough to put his mind at ease for the time being. He fixes one of the primaries which has shifted slightly out of place, and preens the softer down which lays at his lower back. Everything seems in working order. 

With a swift roll of his shoulders, the wings return to rest in the ether and he pads towards his bed. It’s not too late, and the party animal inside him is begging him to stay up and invite a few Brittanies over for some fun. Despite the gnawing desire at him for some good old-fashioned sex, he finds that today his mind has been overpowered by a different kind of want- for sleep. 

So, he draws back the duvet on his bed wearily, and slips inside. The warmth that engulfs him seems more wonderful than any sexual encounter at that moment, and he feels himself drift off easily, even though the music playing in the club below is so loud that it can be heard from even up in the penthouse. 

His breaths become soft snores, and he lets himself forget the worries that he’d had. 

He doesn’t even notice the solo milky-white feather now resting on the polished floor.


	2. Dozing Devil

~He’s so tired he feels he could sleep forever. She won’t let him go, though.~

When his eyes finally force themselves open the next morning, it feels as though he hasn’t slept a wink. He feels his lids droop back down to half-mast and rubs his face to get the blood flowing. Though his celestial makeup means sleep deprivation doesn’t impact him too much, he’s irritated nonetheless- so much so that when his legs decide to work and wander over to the bar, he breaks out the top shelf whiskey for the occasion. So much for saving it for a date with the detective...

He doubts she’s jumping with excitement at the prospect of a romantic evening with him, but the thought of her in his arms provides the only energy he can muster today so he lets the idea float in his mind. 

Her. 

To him, she is the world. He’s an angel, of course, but he considers her far more divine than he ever could be. She’s a ray of sunshine in his clouded days, and he couldn’t think of anyone more perfect if he tried. And he’s tried. It seems Chloe is his weakness in that regard, and no sexual liaison can erase her from the picture. 

Enough about that. Unfortunately, he realises with a start, he’s going to be late if he keeps on daydreaming like a schoolgirl instead of getting his arse dressed and to the corvette.

There’s a dull ache in his head as he rifles through his choices of shirts for the day- they’re strikingly similar, the only difference being a slight shade change each time, but Lucifer lives by the motto ‘the devil’s in the details’. He eventually decides on a neatly-pressed baby blue one, pulling it off the wrack and placing it on the bed while he searches for a good jacket and trousers to match. 

After finally picking an outfit he considers worthy of the Detective’s viewing, he plods to the shower and, in a somewhat enthusiastic attempt to rouse himself, turns the temperature gauge all the way up and gets in. The steaming hot water runs over his rippling pectorals as he slowly turns around to let the shower reach all of his somewhat aching muscles. He stands there for a little longer than intended, just basking in the embrace of warmth, then steps out to dry himself and get ready for the day. 

In the absence of his usual energy, pulling on his suit takes longer than anticipated, but he eventually makes his way over to the bathroom mirror again to apply eyeliner. Still as graceful as ever, he removes the wand from its casing and lines the bottom of one eye before moving to the next. Just as he’s halfway done with the latter, an ill-timed shudder decides to make an appearance and the inky liquid smudges against his cheek.

‘Bollocks’ he mutters. He must turn up the bloody heating in Lux; he’d never noticed how lacking it was before. 

When he’s at last ready to make his presence known at the precinct, the digital clock on his phone reads ‘9:32’. 

Fuck. 

He was definitely meant to be there by 9. 

Although never a role model for punctuality, he’s been trying his damnedest to actually get there on time, but there that goes down the drain along with all his hopes of impressing Chloe. Maybe next time, he supposes. 

He adjusts his collar so it’s just right and hurriedly makes his way to the elevator in the hopes of getting there before everyone’s left, at least. 

When his keys are in the ignition and the engine roars to life, he can’t help but smile. Nothing can keep him down when he’s got his corvette. The wind catches in his hair whilst the speedometer steadily racks up points, and it's only then that he realises his mistake. 

His hair. He forgot to bloody gel it. 

Oh well, it'll have to do for now- curls and all, he thinks. 

***********************  
She looks up at him as he enters the precinct, tapping her watch.   
'You were meant to be here forty five minutes ago, Lucifer. I thought you said you were actually going to try to be punctual!'

He grimaces at her disappointment. 'Sorry, Detective- I overslept. Any more news on the case?'

She shakes her head. ‘Not much. Only that we’ve found the victims wife, so we’ll need to interview her. The news of his death has already been given.’

He nods grimly and she closes the file she’s been staring at before standing up. Her hair is golden in the artificial light of the precinct and he resists the urge to compliment her on it, not wanting to sound lecherous. In no way is he an expert in the human psyche but he gets the impression that she’s not interested, and he respects that.

‘Come on, then' he says, plastering on a smile. ‘I’ll drive.’

She smirks, but doesn’t refuse. Bingo. 

Gesturing for her to follow, he hops up the stairs of the precinct and swings round the railing to glance at Chloe with a wry grin. She looses an irritated chuckle and picks up her pace, trailing behind him as he enters the elevator and holds the button to keep the doors open. Once she’s in with him, he lets his arm fall to his side and looks across at her, eyes sparkling. 

**********************************  
It’s only once the stark light of the elevator hits his face that she notices how unusually pale he is. His eyes are lined not only with deep black ink like usual, but also with a tired grey hue that makes him look older than he is- at least, what she perceives his age to be, not his incessant claims of immortality. 

‘Are you okay?’ she prods, and he gazes at her with warm brown eyes that are creased at the edges in confusion. 

‘Of course I’m okay, Detective. Why wouldn’t I be?’ He replies, and is Chloe going insane or was there a defensive edge to his answer? 

Not wanting to poke the bear anymore, she swallows her feelings and dismisses him with a quick shake of her head. ‘No reason.’ 

The rest of the albeit short journey to the bottom floor of the precinct and thus the exit is taken in silence. She notices since her questioning, he’s straightened up considerably. 

The facade is back up, just as she assumed it would be. 

He opens the passenger side door of the Corvette for him and she can’t help but blush. God, she is desperate, clinging onto stupidly insignificant actions as her sources of affection. 

As Lucifer would so aptly put, she ‘needs a good shag.’ And maybe he’s right. Maybe. Probably not, though, because most problems to Lucifer are solved with a ‘good shag’ and she doesn’t tick like he does. 

She gives him the address and he slides the key into the ignition and turns, causing the engine to purr. The leather seat rumbles beneath her, and he slams his foot onto the ignition. The car lurches forward and soon they’re tearing through the streets of LA- they’re definitely over the speed limit, but she doesn’t care. It’s exhilarating. Edifices and skyscrapers whizz past her, quickly disappearing out of her view only for more to suddenly pop up as they turn a corner. 

When she glances over at him, all evidence of him not doing okay is gone. He lets out a whoop and laughs, heartily, like it’s his first time in the car and the excitement is all new. It’s honestly adorable. The wind buffets and tangles her hair. She closes her eyes and she’s free falling with him, for a blissful few minutes of joy before they arrive at the wife’s house. 

She steels her expression for the bound-to-be-miserable encounter, rapping on the door lightly. The grief of the woman she’s about to meet is going to be palpable, and as much as she appreciates him, she hopes Lucifer won’t fuck it up by making an inappropriate joke. He has emotions, that much is clear, but understanding others' is not his strong suit. 

The woman appears at the door, clutching a handkerchief for dear life and looking at them with red-rimmed eyes. 

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. It’s the LAPD. May we come in? 

She nods and sniffles wetly, then turns around and begins to retreat into the house. Chloe follows with Lucifer in tow, and comes to sit in the living room opposite the woman. The room, like Hernandez’s, is richly decorated with portraits and memories. 

‘James was a good man’ the grieving lady eventually musters. ‘I can’t understand why somebody would want to hurt him.’

Chloe nods. ‘I know. Trust me, we’ll get to the bottom of this, Mrs Farnham.’

The woman smiles weakly, appreciative. ‘Thank you. And call me Erica.’

‘Okay, Erica.’ Chloe says, taking a quick look at Lucifer before continuing. He’s usually so talkative, but he’s staring off into space like he’s distracted. ‘Do you know of any people that might have had a problem with your husband?’

Erica raises the cloth she’s holding to her mouth and a look of horror crosses her features. ‘Oh no.’ She mutters. ‘He had a slight rivalry at work with another colleague, about being the one to work cases... But I never thought...’

Chloe frowns. ‘Which colleague?’

‘Her name was... Rebecca, I believe.’ 

The name rings a bell and it takes Chloe a second to realise where she recognises it from.   
‘Lucifer’ she says, turning to him. ‘The woman we interviewed.’

He snaps out of his trance-like state and nods hesitantly, like he’s still getting his bearings back. ‘Yes...should we-?’

The question trails off and she nods again. ‘Thank you, Erica. If you remember anything else you think may be of importance, give us a call.’ With that, she’s rushing back towards the car, fuelled by desperation. That damn woman they talked to had clearly been trying to frame Hernandez; she should’ve known something was amiss after they visited his apartment. 

Lucifer gets in after her and starts the engine again. They race off out of the neighbourhood and hope they’re not too late. 

*******************************************  
Her desk is deserted when they reach the law firm. Shit. Chloe asks around in case anyone knows where the missing lawyer has got to, but she’s met with disinterested shrugs and half-assed apologies. After scouring the place for answers, she comes across Lucifer, who’s leant over the woman’s computer typing furiously.  
‘What are you doing?’

He points to the screen and she follows his finger to see a familiar looking photo with a number plate emblazoned below. She could almost kiss him. ‘How?’

Nonchalantly, he explains, ‘Searched her up on a number plate database. You people really don’t have much privacy, do you?’

Purposefully ignoring the ‘you people', she thanks him hurriedly and notes down the number plate before fumbling with her phone to call Dan. 

‘Hey, Chlo’ he greets. ‘What’s up?’

‘Lucifer found a suspect’s number plate, could you run it through and find out where the car is?’

Dan hums affirmatively. She’ll take that as a yes. 

‘It’s parked at 13 Grange Road, here in LA.’ He says after a few stretching seconds.

She reaches for her notepad again to jot it down but Lucifer’s already on the case. How on earth he could hear their tinny conversation through a phone that wasn’t even on speaker is beyond her, but she doesn’t have time to question his methods when there’s a possible killer on the loose. He passes her the slip of paper he’s used and she stuffs it gratefully into her pocket. 

Within seconds, they’re out to the corvette yet again, and seconds after that they’re speeding towards the address. Lucifer’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he swerves in and out of the busy LA traffic, tyres squealing for mercy at every sharp turn. 

It takes an almost inhuman amount of time for them to get to their suspect’s house thanks to Lucifer’s highly illegal but highly efficient driving methods. They’re barely at a stop when Chloe jumps out, gun drawn, and advances towards the door. Her partner is by her side in an instant, stance protective as always despite his lack of firearms. 

‘LAPD! Open up!’ she yells. There’s no reply, so she tries again. ‘OPEN THE DOOR!’

The lack of movement on the other side is apparently Lucifer’s cue, because he steps in front of her and places his hand against the wood, fingers splayed. With as much effort as if the panel were made entirely of cotton, the frame groans and the door comes crashing to the floor, sending splinters flying off into the open air. 

Sometimes his strength really does seem... Supernatural. 

They enter the house, Chloe’s hands gripping her gun tightly. She can feel Lucifer’s presence right behind her, trusting her skills as a police officer to get the job done without his immanent protection. 

The sound of rustling fills her ears and she turns the corner, firearm held level with her chest. An inconvenient door stands between them and whatever’s making the noise, but her partner makes quick work of that one too. 

As the door topples over, the bedroom of the house is revealed. There’s a suitcase balanced on the bed, and a figure crouching over it, stuffing garments and necessary items inside frantically. It looks up, eyes wide, and Chloe can see clearly who it is. 

Rebecca. 

*************************************

‘You were lucky you got her’ Dan says, pudding cup in hand and spoon in the other. ‘Looks like she was planning to make a runner, huh?’

‘For sure’ Chloe agrees, sipping on a can of diet coke she pulled from the sparse mini fridge. 

The precinct break room is quiet except for her, Ella and Dan. He’s leaning against the wall, offering his input between scoops of chocolate goo which he practically inhales in his speed to eat. The buzz of the overhead lights fills the gaps in conversation, needed with the descending darkness outside. She hadn’t realised how late it was until they’d been driving back, the sun slowly creeping behind the packed skyline. 

Lucifer’s earlier pallor had returned on the journey back, and it took every ounce of Chloe’s restraint not to ask if he was okay again.

Lucifer. 

In her haste to share the news about their arrest, she’d nearly forgotten all about him. 

‘Have you seen Lucifer?’ she asks. Ella shakes her head, clearly too engrossed in her phone, and Dan shrugs. 

‘I’m pretty sure he said he was going to do some paperwork.’ He says, shovelling another spoonful of pudding into his mouth. 

Chloe barks out a laugh that startles Ella, who looks up pointedly from her phone.  
‘Lucifer?’ she chuckles. ‘The guy who never does paperwork?’

Dan cracks a smile. ‘Yeah, I guess it is a little weird. Didn’t think to ask him about it though- less work for me.’

************************************

*20 minutes earlier*

He strolls into the precinct after Chloe, suppressing the third yawn that day. Whatever this is, he doesn’t like it. 

The detective has disappeared before he can tell her he’d rather just head back home, so he settles on helping out with the paperwork, deciding that he’ll stay and wait for her to come back so he can properly say goodbye. 

As he half-shuffles towards her desk, a familiar face comes into view in front of him and he holds back his disgruntled remark. Dan. 

‘Hey, Lucifer' he greets, seemingly appraising him as he looks him up and down. ‘You look like Hell.’

The civilian consultant sniggers slightly, though it comes out weaker than he intended. ‘Good one, Daniel.’

The detective gives him a look of confusion, then understanding washes over him and he rolls his eyes. ‘What are you doing anyway?’

So he tells him the truth. Obviously. 

That’s his whole thing. 

Dan’s the one to laugh this time, but he stops when he realises Lucifer isn’t joking. ‘Oh.. okay. Have fun with that I guess.’

He slides past and heads in the same direction as Chloe went, towards the break room. 

Alone at last. Well, aside from the few other officers working on this floor quietly. 

Plonking himself into Chloe’s desk chair, Lucifer pulls the stack of papers on the table towards him, and picks up a pen nearby. 

Right. Paperwork. 

The art of completing monotonous paperwork is alien to him. Nonetheless, he figures it out as he goes along and mostly manages to complete the first half of the stack without too much issue.   
Easy. 

His breathing becomes deeper with each sheet of paper, though, and he can feel the tiredness that he’d felt all day creeping up on him. It’s like the paperwork is physically sapping him of energy, but he needs to carry on- it’ll help Chloe, he reminds himself. 

There’s a faint ticking in the background thanks to the clock Chloe keeps on her desk- Dad knows why, since she has a phone that can tell her the time. Its rhythmical ticking is at first essential in keeping him going, but like most of his other former accomplices, it turns its back on him fast and starts to drag him down into the lull of drowsiness. 

He takes a steadying breath and tries to focus his mind. Think, Lucifer, think. There’s no time for sleeping. 

When he turns the next page, his limbs feel excessively heavy, like they’ve been dipped in concrete and left to dry in the baking hot sun. 

Sun. His creation. So lovely and warm. 

He can almost feel the warmth of it encircling him, wrapping him up in its tendrils of light. 

His head tips forward into the mess of paper, and he’s gone. 

********************************

*Present*

Chloe leaves the break room, Dan and Ella trailing slightly behind her, in search of Lucifer. 

If he were to do paperwork, her first guess of a prime spot would be her desk. So, she heads over there. 

The lights are dimmer than they are in the day, she notes as they round the corner. She secretly wishes they’d keep them that intensity constantly, so she could possibly avoid the constant eye strain she gets from the brightness. 

She spots him in the distance, at her desk like she suspected. From afar, she can’t see much, but there are definitely papers in front of him so he’s clearly been doing some kind of work, anyway. 

As she encroaches on the desk, she slows. A smile spreads across her face and she swivels around to put a finger to her lips, directed at Ella and Dan. 

He’s sleeping soundly with his head on half a stack of papers, pen still in hand, drool collecting in a puddle and soaking the corner of one of the manuscripts. His breaths are even. She plucks the biro from his limp hand and puts it back in its rightful place before crouching next to him. Not wanting to disturb him, she opts not to move the sheets he’s resting on. That’ll have to wait for tomorrow. 

She figures that she can stay an hour longer, let him nap and then wake him up. 

When she looks back at Ella and Dan, the forensic scientist has her hands over her mouth and is moving restlessly on her feet, silently squealing. She clearly thinks it’s adorable. And so does Chloe. 

Dan doesn’t exactly have the same reaction, but the edges of his lips quirk up all the same. 

Chloe glances at Lucifer, then back at her two friends. Her voice is a whisper.   
‘Do you think the precinct has a spare blanket?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	3. A Mother's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry this took so long, what with schoolwork and everything I've been pretty bogged down so I've been working on this when I had the chance (not often).
> 
> As always, kudos and especially comments are much appreciated, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait :)

He’s woken by the golden light of a new morning and he forces his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. His brain is sluggish in remembering the events of last night, but he knows that he saw Chloe before he left. There’s a lingering nausea in the pit of his stomach, an unfamiliar feeling that unsettles him in its discomfort. 

As he manoeuvres himself to check his phone for the time, his joints scream out their complaints. Is he hungover? He doesn’t remember drinking, but perhaps in the haze of missing time he’d discovered a susceptibility to alcohol in the Detective’s presence and taken full advantage of it. If so, he can’t blame his past self. Whatever the case, at the very least he can take liberties in getting ready- the time reads only 7:15. 

He ignores the revolt in his muscles and pulls himself up. The room tilts slightly at first, but when he blinks again, it returns to its normal balance and he dismisses the anomaly as just that. His black silk robe is draped over a chair, ready for him, though this time he decides he’d rather go without. 

The penthouse is silent aside from the sound of his footsteps tapping a slow rhythm against the polished floor as he drags himself to the bathroom. He feels strangely warm, even more than usual, so he postpones his shower for the evening. Hopefully, the hangover will have faded by then. Everything he knows about them suggests that with human medicine, water, and time, they’ll get rid of themselves. 

He draws his gaze up to the mirror, where his reflection watches him. The eyeliner he was wearing yesterday is still present, and Lucifer considers it a win, since the result of his drunkenness last night is the return of the occasional tremors. Unfortunately, the rest of his appearance is far from a victory, by any means. His eyes look hollow and tired, and his carefully cultivated stubble reads more ‘homeless alcoholic’ than suave club-owner. Splashing water on his face is the only temporary solution that crosses his jumbled mind, so he turns on the faucet and waits until the water is ice-cold before assaulting his senses with it. 

The shock of it briefly clears the static in his head, but it returns with full force only moments later, and the cool sensation on his skin fades away into the uncomfortable heat he’d woken up with. 

One last glance at his reflection, and he tears himself away. 

***********************************  
Chloe arrives at the precinct after Lucifer this time. In fairness, she’d been caught in the heaving LA traffic, which was no fault of her own. She notices his Corvette in his newly designated parking space (‘It’s high time, Detective!’), neatly slotted between two cruisers. She makes her way through the doors and eventually comes to her floor. At first, she can’t spot him in the flurry of movement. Then, her eyes fall on a familiar figure. He’s pouring himself a coffee in the break room, back turned to her, but he’s unmistakeable in his immense stature and movements. 

She practically skips towards him, smiling.  
‘Lucifer! You’re early!’

He swivels round to shoot her a toothy grin, clutching a polystyrene cup of cheap caffeine in one hand and resting his hand on the counter with the other. 

Something is wrong, though. 

No, everything is wrong. 

There are shadows under his eyes, no matter how much he tries to hide them. The beaming expression on his face is a mask, under which lies exhaustion and uneasiness. 

She’s not a detective for nothing. 

‘Good morning, Detective!' he chirps, taking a sip. As if nothing is out of place. 

He’s so pale, though. It’s not normal. So, against her better instincts, she reaches out her hand and places it against his forehead. He doesn’t even have time to protest before she pulls her hand away, cringing. Too hot. Even for a self-proclaimed Devil. 

Lucifer eyes her curiously, head tilted.

‘You’re hot, Lucifer.’ The words tumble out, and she regrets them immediately. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. 

‘Well, I knew that already, but it’s *far* better coming from you, Darling.’ 

The comment lacks passion, though, and his eyes aren’t full of the usual childish sparkle they contain when he’s making a crude joke. Instead of reassuring her, his attempt at normalcy only concerns her more- he’s hiding something.  
‘No, I mean you’re burning up. I think you have a fever.’ She places her hand back on his cheek, the fiery heat of his skin clashing angrily with the gentle temperature of hers. He almost sinks into it, a sigh escaping his lips with the relief her touch brings him. 

He comes to his senses and bats her away lightly. ‘I’m perfectly fine, Detective. Haven’t we a homicide to solve or something of the sort?’

Despite how clear it is that he’s deflecting, she allows him respite from her barrage of motherly instincts... For now. He’s probably right, after all. 

So, for the rest of the morning, she ignores it. They focus on the new case, a 19 year old student strangled in her own room in the middle of the night. Forensics have discovered prints that are currently being tested, from the victim’s windowsill. If they get results back, they could be closing it within days- an outcome not often witnessed. 

She focuses on filling in the remaining paperwork while they wait, only daring occasional glances at her partner. He’d made the choice to stay, even though there was no immediate exciting work to be done, and in normal circumstances she would have been thrilled at his commitment. The only issue is that he seems to be lingering out of necessity than eagerness. She watches as he continually wipes at his forehead, abandoning handkerchiefs all together. 

Now that she thinks about it, sweat isn’t something she usually sees on Lucifer. Even after running after hundreds of perps, he’s never broken a sweat. Now, however...

The building sensation that something is wrong prods at her again. He’s sick. He needs her. 

She reminds herself that he doesn’t want help, but she knows in her heart that she’ll be at his side whenever he needs her. He just needs to let her in. 

********************************

The nausea deep within him bubbles. He’s the subject of a band of tortuous symptoms: a pounding headache that refuses to let up, a malfunctioning temperature gauge which can’t bloody decide whether he’s hot or cold, and the sick feeling in his stomach. He tries to look at least somewhat busy while simultaneously attempting not to throw up, tapping away at his phone. 

The look on the Detective’s face every time she steals a glance at him is telling that he’s not doing a good job of nonchalance. If it weren’t for the damn sweat and his pasty face, perhaps he’d get away with it. 

Note to self- thorough check up of divinity at home. Hangovers should NOT last this long. 

That tired feeling nags at him again, and the constant hum of activity in the precinct does nothing to help his attempts at staying awake. He tries to concentrate on a word game on his phone, filled with sexual innuendos and puns, but even that isn’t enough. 

Eventually, Lucifer slides the phone back into his jacket pocket. He looks over at Chloe, still working diligently on the files at her desk. As much as he tries to concentrate on her, his head is filled with concrete and it tips forward, his breathing becoming slower and even. 

Voices meld into one, a droning buzz in the back of his fuzzy mind as he drifts off. 

He’d hoped that sleeping would alleviate the sick feeling, but it loiters in his stomach and prevents him from sliding too deep into unconsciousness. Settling for a relatively peaceful half-existence, he rests. 

At least for a few minutes. 

Someone familiar calls his name, and he feels a tap on the shoulder. His eyes pry open, the action itself exhausting. It’s like his eyelids are welded together with treacle. 

He looks hazily up at the person disturbing his almost-sleep and finds Dan. Irritation wells up, the primal and celestial emotion of ‘leave me be, mortal’ but instead Lucifer finds the energy within to muster

‘Daniel?’

The detective looks down at him, eyebrows creased in... Is that worry?

‘’You okay, Lucifer? You don’t look too great.’

Detective Decker he can take, but Detective Espinoza fussing over him? No. 

‘I’m perfectly fine, Daniel. Just a little... Tired.’

Espinoza nods, and Lucifer notes that he’s eating pudding. Again. Does the man ever stop? How on earth he manages to keep in shape while also eating that much is-

Oh no. No no no no no no no no. 

Do NOT think about food. Do NOT think about food. 

Too late. 

‘Excuse me’ Lucifer mumbles, weakly pushing himself up and speed walking to the bathroom. It’s at moments like these where he wishes he didn’t care about his own reputation, since it would certainly be easier to run through a crowd and... Relieve himself... If he felt that way. Feeling the piercing eyes of colleagues, however, he opts for a swift stride. The way his back is curved and the shine of sweat on his forehead is revealing that he’s not just off to urinate, unfortunately. He imagines that he looks quite like Quasimodo- if Quasimodo were suffering from violent food poisoning. 

Whatever the hell Lucifer’s problem is, anyway. 

He approaches the door of the shared restrooms, then diverts his course to the disabled bathroom. There doesn’t appear to be anyone in need of it, and why should he care anyway?-he’s the bloody devil! 

As soon as the latch on the door clicks shut, he crumples to the floor in front of the toilet and tears his suit jacket from his sweat-covered back. He can think of hardly anything worse than shoving his face in the toilet bowl of a public restroom, but his rebelling stomach is in total control. 

He leans over the seat just in time, retching painfully. Having barely eaten anything that day, there’s not much to be rid of in the first place, but his body wants it all gone, every last bit. 

Shivering violently, he spits into the toilet and lets his head rest against the cold seat. It’s disgusting, but the coolness of it is heavenly. 

His body is in total disarray. His nose is running, his chin is slick, and his cheeks are flushed. At that moment, he wants nothing more than to sleep, even on the cold hard tiles. Instead, he lays for a minute to catch his breath, then lifts himself up off the seat and flushes. The bathroom spins around him and he worries he’s going to be sick again, but it soon orients itself and he’s able to stand up, albeit shakily. 

The mirror by the sink is dirty and scratched, yet it’s just clear enough to see himself in. He haphazardly grabs the roll of toilet paper on top of the water tank and takes off a few sections, using the length to clean himself up. If he goes back inside, he wants to look as though he’s NOT been throwing up everything he’s eaten. 

After hastily making himself look slightly presentable, Lucifer emerges from the bathroom and is surprised to see Chloe standing there, listening in. 

‘Lucifer!’ she says, surprised to see him all of sudden. ‘Are you okay? I heard you in there...’

He wants nothing more than to reassure her, but his infernal incapability of lying to her means he’s forced to stay silent. Her eyes scan his dishevelled appearance and she sighs.  
‘Come on, let’s get you home. You’re sick.’

Yes, sick... But how? He was feeling ‘sick’ in the morning, but he wasn’t near Chloe. What on earth is going on with him?

*************************************  
After driving him back to the penthouse (since his barely conscious state is definitely unacceptable for operating a vehicle), Chloe lingers. Lucifer mumbles absently a few times that there’s no need for her to stay, but she silently calls him out on his bullshit and doesn’t leave anyway. 

He’s still trying hard to shroud his feeble state, even though he knows she’s caught him. She can’t stop him from strolling over to the bar and pouring himself a whiskey, unfortunately. He says he needs a drink. It’s his house, she can’t boss him. 

Not that it appears to take much to dissuade him from drinking, judging by the little amount he actually swallows. That’s another red flag. His lips brush against the rim of the glass and he tips it back gently to allow the warm amber liquid to slide into his mouth, but there’s no mistaking the way he lets only a little in, then puts the drink down. 

Eventually, he disappears into the bathroom. She lets him have a few minutes to himself in between her constant pestering to go to bed. 

The issue arises when it doesn’t last a few minutes, and instead the time stretches out, flexing its limbs and taunting her in Lucifer’s absence. Soon, he’s been in there for half an hour, with no sign of movement at all. The shower isn’t running, and she can’t even hear him throwing up- which, disgusting as it is, would at least reassure her of his alive-ness. It’s pure silence. 

She waits a few more minutes, until she can’t hold herself back anymore. She’s worried.  
‘Lucifer? You okay in there?’

Still nothing. She knocks, in case he hasn’t heard her. 

‘Lucifer? It’s only me.’

A small sound emanates from behind the door, a panicked expression that tangles her stomach in knots. It’s barely audible, a helpless shout in the middle of a thick forest. It’s so eerie that Chloe fumbles at the doorknob in a desperate plea to see him. Nothing budges, though, and she’s left to drown in her anxious thoughts without the knowledge that he’s okay. 

She listens at the door and asks after him a few more times, then switches her tactic to pacing about the apartment. The minutes tick by and there’s no sign of life. Chloe considers using brute force to break down the door, just in case something has happened to him. 

One more minute, she says to herself, one more minute. If he’s not out by then, she’ll kick her way into the bathroom. 

60 more seconds. 

59\. 

58.

43.

31.

26.

20.

10.

8.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Okay, she’s going to do it. He could be dying in there for all she knows. 

His apartment is full of potentially useful objects for the task at hand, though she’s not sure how pleased he’d be if he found her wielding one of his expensive and incredibly rare statues as a makeshift battering ram. There’s a couple of wardrobes in his room, one of which contains Maze’s leftover things, or at least she assumes they’re hers. Knives, maces, swords, katanas, maces, battle-axes- you name a weapon, it’s probably got a home in Maze’s armoire of torture devices. Chloe decides not to focus on the supreme illegality of owning most of these items, and instead picks up a baseball bat lying at the bottom of the wardrobe. The end of the handle feels sturdy enough, like it’d be sufficient to break hinges.

She approaches the bathroom door and positions the bottom of the bat against one side. One hard jab should be all that’s required to get in, unless Lucifer has some kind of super fancy special hinges. Wouldn’t be surprising. 

Her sweaty hands grip the bat tightly as she pulls it away from the area, keeping in line with where she’d positioned it. She’s just about to slam it forward...

When the door swings open and Lucifer emerges. He’s clammy and even paler than before, which Chloe didn’t even know was possible. He’s neglected his shirt in favour of a bare back, with rivulets of sweat streaking down his shoulder blades and face, but the most striking thing about him are his eyes, wide and terrified. 

He sees her and in an instant his posture is perfect and he’s sending a dazzling smile her way. He draws the back of his hand across his forehead to swipe away the drizzling beads of moisture left. He’s trying everything in his power to convince her that he’s okay. 

He’s not okay. 

‘Lucifer, please talk to me. What’s going on?’

The brightness in his eyes fades for a second but he blinks and then he’s forcing it back. ‘I’ll be fine, Detective. I think I just need to rest.’

She knows that in spite of his earlier proclamations of being fine, this one holds truth to it. What with his wobbling legs and grey-ish tinge, he looks about ready to drop. 

‘Do you want me to stay?’ she asks. 

************************************  
Yes. Yes. I need you here. Please. Yes. 

That’s what he wants to say, but he can’t. He can’t keep this up for much longer and he needs to test something. Something that requires the detective’s leave. 

‘’I...Think it’s best if I’m alone. Some sleep should be just what the Doctor ordered.’ He goes with that, instead, pushing the first part out of him harshly because of how much it hurts to say it. Of course he wants her with him. But she can’t stay. 

She nods and places her hand on his arm, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. The very brush of her fingertips against his skin makes him momentarily forget how awful he feels. Dad-damn, he loves her. Not that he can tell her so- she deserves someone better than him. 

Her touch trails away and so does she, retreating to the elevator and tentatively waving goodbye, then disappearing behind the closed doors. 

As soon as he’s sure that she’s gone, he stumbles to one of his sofas and crumples onto it, exhaustion boring a hole. Something is very wrong and he doesn’t know what to do. 

He knows that because he saw it in the mirror. The flurry of feathers that fluttered to the ground as he unfurled his wings, each plume draining more and more of his precious light. The wings themselves weren’t as brilliant as they usually were when he looked at them, probably no more mind-bending to a human than a swan’s. 

Lucifer considers phoning Amenadiel, unleashing all of his pent-up emotions and confiding in his brother about his troubles, but he knows that the angel won’t have the answers. After all, his brother had fallen, but not in such a deeply changing way- his wings had been withered, but he had felt no other ill-effects, a far cry from the onslaught of symptoms such as Lucifer’s. 

He runs his hands over the blazing hot skin of his face and pulls at his tangled curls, frustration turning to grief turning to fear and back to frustration again. Steadying himself is a near impossible task and his breaths are strained and painful as he battles the emotions inside of him. His nostrils and eyes burn and he realises he’s sobbing, hot tears adding to the sweltering dampness on his cheeks. 

Longing for Chloe’s embrace, he sinks dejectedly into the cushions and cries. 

*********************************  
Since being banished into a world of darkness, the Goddess has been hard at work. Her powers aren’t what they used to be, but she’s certainly still able to create and shape matter as well as (if not better than) her ex-husband. 

She admires the Eden she has created for herself, the trees, creatures, oceans and mountains, all unique and wonderful. It takes only a swipe of her hand for the waves to begin crashing against the shores, and a flick of her wrist leaves craters in the solid earth. 

Her aim is not to recreate the universe created by God, but to surpass it- a task so seemingly insurmountable, it gives her a celestial headache. She is the Goddess, and she will prevail, by any way possible.

But, as she watches the very flowers she’d just planted wither below, she knows a simple truth. Without light, she cannot hope to achieve her aims. And to conjure her own light is a skill she never perfected, since that gift was unique to her son. 

The Lightbringer. 

It is a tough reality to face how much she needs him, but Lucifer is the only way she can hope to allow life to prosper on her plane. She has tried to contact him, many times through prayer, but one thing stands in her way of reaching him. He is too infatuated with the Detective to bear her any mind. 

Which is why she has switched to extreme measures to bring her son back to her.

The difficulty in residing in another universe is the inability to change physical matter in another. This setback means concocting a plan takes longer than intended, however, she eventually stumbles across an idea while bathed in the constant darkness of her realm. 

His essence. 

As a mother, it is possible for her to manipulate it, the connection between Mum and Son an unbreakable bond of energy. At first, she doesn’t know how she will use this power to get to him, but then she comes to an epiphany: if Lucifer is forced away from the mortal, his attentions might be redirected to his mother, requiring assistance. 

Such a solution is near impossible considering Lucifer’s unfathomable attachment to the detective, though not totally out of the realms of possibility. It would just require a necessary evil- hurting her son. 

As she finishes the incantation in front of her and snaps the book shut, she has no idea whether it will work. But, perhaps, once and for all, Lucifer will have no choice but to listen. There’s not a doubt in her mind that he’ll choose to help over his own death- no matter *how* much he loves his human, he will see sense in the end. 

And she’ll finally have him all to herself.


	4. Ensnared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Apologies for not updating in a while- I've been so swamped with schoolwork. 
> 
> Anyways, here's chapter 4! Let me know what you think :)

The prints come back, and it’s a clear match. A Mr Jacob Erikkson. The forensic team say they’ve never seen anything like it, the loops and whorls so distinct and obvious.

Chloe is perusing through the findings on the suspect- he’s a man with no previous criminal record and he’s practically unknown to the government. It’s a little unusual, but nothing new to the LAPD. They deal with newly-oriented bad guys all the time, so Jacob certainly isn’t the most surprising person they’ve witnessed. His license plate is printed on the papers before her, tracked as well to a long-since abandoned factory off a local highway. 

She types in the address to Google Maps and waits while the phone provides her with directions. It’s not too far. Since Lucifer had been sick the last time she’d seen him, she knows she’ll have to bring another partner. Eventually, she decides on Dan, though she doesn’t tell him yet. The case seems so simple that she doesn’t feel a need to rush too much, especially because of the sketchy location her would-be murderer has chosen. She’d rather plan her approach carefully and avoid adding to the suspect’s list of victims by waltzing in there like she owns the place- likely Lucifer’s chosen tactic. 

Speak of the Devil. 

He trots down the stairs in a pristine three-piece suit, hair still un-coiffed and cufflinks slightly uneven. Despite looking no better than the previous day, for some reason he’s chosen to show up. 

‘Good morning, Detective!’ he greets her with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

‘Lucifer, you shouldn’t be here... You’re sick.’ She looks him up and down appraisingly, unsatisfied by his appearance. ‘Come on, I’m taking you back to Lux.’

She grabs his arm and goes to drag him towards the stairs, but suddenly he’s a ten-tonne weight with infinite resistance and she can do nothing but tug helplessly at his unmoving wrist. Pulling with all her might, she looks up at him in frustration. His eyes are locked to hers, with something resembling desperation pooling in their depths. 

‘Please, Chloe’ he whispers, tone serious. ‘Let me stay.’

What she doesn’t know, and what he doesn’t mention, is that this is more than just a plea for allowing him to be with her at work. He doesn’t mention that he knows something awful is happening to him, and that when he woke up this morning he noticed that his mother has left him a series of prayers explaining the situation. That she needs him in her universe, and to ensure that that happens, she’s cast a curse on him. That he’ll be angry for a while, but then he’ll eventually come to his senses and help her, because staying with the Detective means his own death. That she loves him, and it’s for the greater good. 

She wants him to leave Chloe and the world that she inhabits, maybe for good. But he’s sick of being manipulated. He’s tired of playing by the rules of other people’s games. 

‘Bring it on!’ He’d shouted at the penthouse roof, as if that meant his mother could hear him. ‘I’d sooner die in this universe than abandon her for another, Mum!’

And so he’d metaphorically spit in his Mother’s eye, and taken Death by the hand. For being with Chloe was a gift worth any price to be paid in his own wellbeing. 

The detective sees the hurt in his eyes and gives in, releasing her grip. She fills him in on the situation, he acts like he’s very interested by it, and she almost believes him. Because the alternative is that he’s hiding something from her, and she doesn’t want to consider that option. 

He sips on his flask as she details the plan, nodding sporadically to show her he’s listening. A past her maybe would’ve been jumping for joy in seeing him so engaged, but his artificial attention to her every word is jarring. She can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. But she doesn’t probe. 

When she gives him the address of the factory, he doesn’t leap from his place on the desk and call dibs on driving. Instead, he stands up slowly and gestures for her to go first. 

She offers to drive, and he doesn’t object. 

She chooses the music, and he doesn’t object. 

Every proffered silence twists the knife in her chest labelled worry. 

The music is fairly loud in the cruiser, a mix of 90s jams that she knows Lucifer finds ‘abysmal.’ Even after seeing his blatantly submissive nature in the precinct, she waits expectantly for him to groan, make a joke and turn the channel. 

When he doesn’t grumble his annoyance or even make a sound after five minutes of driving, she looks over at him. His head is resting against the passenger window, eyes closed, and she can tell that he’s sound asleep by the way he jostles along with the car at every bump. 

This is the third time he’s fallen asleep near her in a matter of days, having previously never even dared to close his eyes for a few minutes around her. 

She twists the dial of the radio and the music fades into the background, only slightly louder than the light rumble of the engine as they make their way to the factory. Concentrating on the road is tough. Her eyes keep drifting to her dozing partner, and she considers just dropping him back off at Lux and continuing solo. Definitely not LAPD Approved, though. Nor Lucifer approved- he specifically requested to stay with her. 

So, she ignores her (probably) better judgement and pulls into the parking lot of the factory with Lucifer beside her. Once she’s turned off the radio and ignition, she turns to him, reaching out to shake him awake before stopping herself. A few minutes can’t hurt. 

A black truck with a familiar-looking number-plate is parked across the lot, and Chloe checks it to find out that, as suspected, it’s their guy. 

Digging around in the glove compartment, she finds an old energy bar, its wrapper crinkled and slightly faded. She checks the date and is relieved to see that it’s not expired, so she tears the top as quietly as she can and begins to chew absent-mindedly. His gentle snores penetrate the near silence of the car, a sound that is so sweet to her, she can barely stop the smile from spreading across her face. He would kill her if he knew how ‘cute’ she thought he was. 

The truth is, he holds a special place in her heart. She’s not sure what exactly that place is, yet, and what ‘they are, aside from being partners, but she’s content to just let things happen. Take it slow. They have all the time in the world to make a decision, she thinks. 

It’s been 5 minutes when she finally bites her lip and chooses to wake him. 

‘Lucifer’ she coos, hand brushing his shoulder. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead!’

He groans and opens his eyes slightly, gaze gradually coming to her face. At once, he’s sat straight up again, apologising profusely for his lack of professionalism. 

‘It’s fine!’ she chuckles, finishing off her snack. ‘We all get a little tired, sometimes, and I needed a break anyway.’

Silence ensues and Chloe spends it half-ogling Lucifer, who’s fiddling with his cufflinks awkwardly. There’s something distinctly paler about his skin tone, and the space under his eyes is dark. Messy hair sits atop his head, with no effort made to gel it seemingly in sight. 

Overall, he just looks weary. 

‘Are you okay?’ she says before she can stop herself. 

‘Please don’t ask me that.’ 

At first she dares not meet his eyes, thinking that she’s angered him somehow with her question, but when she finally looks over, he’s more broken and sincere than furious.

‘Why?’ she prods. 

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again and stares wistfully out the car window, not meeting her eyes. 

‘Okay.’ She softly tells him, taking the keys out of the ignition. ‘You don’t have to answer that. Let’s just get this murderer in, huh?’

He turns back to her and smiles, and she swears she can see his eyes glittering slightly. ‘Thank you.’

She clambers out of the car and so does he, and they fall into step beside each other as they approach the factory. Although he seems ‘off’, he still ensures that he’s at least a pace in front of her when they get nearer to the grand dilapidated building. 

The paint that coats it is a faint red, weatherworn and bronze-tinted with specks of rust. A rickety corrugated iron roof shelters the structure, and that too has been beaten down by years of rain and wind. No windows are to be seen anywhere- the outside is mostly plain sheets of metal nailed together unobstructed. Only a set of thick and heavy-looking double doors set the space aside as an inhabitable area. 

Chloe’s fingers brush against the cold surface of the door, and she thinks initially that she’s going to have to get Lucifer to use his supernatural strength. When she gestures for him to come closer, though, he shies away from her beckoning hand and his view grazes the concrete of the ground instead. So, that’s a no, then. For whatever reason. 

Okay. There has to be another way to get in. 

She pushes against the entrance with all her might, expecting to meet a truckload of resistance. Surprisingly, the door that she’s pressed against begins to creak open without much exertion necessary. The sound of scraping metal against the floor makes her wince, but soon enough the interior comes into view. Some dim light bars cling to the ceiling, emitting a dull shine and an irritating buzzing noise. 

It’s far too empty for comfort, and the ease at which the detective was able to open the door is even more sign that something is awry. But she pushes on. 

Brackets and a few discarded wires litter the ground, remnants of the previous mechanical inhabitants. An old cigarette butt lies alone. She can practically hear the booming of machinery and smell the potent whiff of oil and labour. There’s no indication of what kind of factory it used to be; all identifying features have been stripped away, leaving the place bare and eerie. 

A wall at the end of the giant, empty room separates the two sections of the factory- assumedly, they’re standing on the factory floor, and where the offices would have been is behind there. 

‘Lucifer’ she calls, and he twists his neck to see her from where he’s observing a rusted pipe on the ground. 

‘Mhm?’

‘Could you go and check out the room behind that wall there?’ she points. 

He follows the end of her finger to the small entryway nestled between the expanse of wall and looks back at her hesitantly. It’s far, she knows he’s thinking, and I don’t want you to get hurt. 

‘’I’ll be okay, Lucifer. Promise.’

He sighs, but starts walking anyway. 

‘Thanks!’

She switches her attention to exploring the rest of the factory floor, which remains in nearly pristine condition despite being abandoned for so long. Any normal place that had been left would’ve been covered in graffiti from trespassing vandals by then. Not this one. Aside from a couple of small markings on the cracked yellow paint, the walls are decidedly untouched. 

Makes you wonder why. 

As hard as she searches, she can’t find any clues as to the killer’s whereabouts. The car had definitely been tracked here, so where was this elusive son of a bitch?

Her phone vibrates with a text notification, which she taps on after pulling the device from her pocket. 

Dan: ‘U there yet?’

She taps on the phone icon in the top right of her screen and his name flashes on the screen as a ringing sound chirps through the speakers. Putting the phone to her ear, she waits for the detective to pick up. 

‘Hey Chlo’ 

‘Oh, hey Dan’ she begins. ‘Lucifer and I are at the factory but we can’t find anything of note.’

‘I- ca- hea- you, w a di-‘ 

Damn phone service. 

‘Sorry Dan, you’re breaking up. Shitty cell reception in here.’

A few indistinct noises echo, then a recognisable ‘beep beep beep’ tone alerts her that the call has ended. 

Great. 

She takes the phone away from her ear and scrolls back to the messages section. 

Chloe: Reception super bad in here. Sorry. 

A new message pops up instantly. 

Dan: No worries. Everything ok?

She types her response, keeping an eye out for any movement. 

Chloe: All good so far. Don’t know where our guy is, tho. 

The ‘typing’ bubble appears and Chloe taps her foot impatiently while she watches the three dots pulse continuously. 

Dan: Was his car there?

She remembers the black truck parked outside. 

Chloe: Yep. It’s super empty in the actual factory, there’s nothing much here at all. 

A sense of uneasiness creeps over her as she surveys the open space again. 

Dan: *Thumbs up emoji*. Ok. Let me know if you find anything, if not just call in that you’ve found the car and head back. 

She replies that she will and tucks the phone back into her pocket. 

After scanning the room, she can tell that there doesn’t appear to be anyone there, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling like someone’s watching her. She shudders. Best just get Lucifer, call in the car and take him back to Lux to get some rest- this factory gives her the creeps. 

She decides that walking all the way over to the wall is overrated, so texts him a quick message instead. 

Chloe: Nothing here. Let’s go?

He usually reads all of her messages as soon as he receives them, no matter what time it is. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s texted him drunkenly multiple times in the middle of the night saying she misses him. Blaming it on the alcohol usually works the trick the next day, even though she’s well aware that drinking only makes her more honest. 

However late it is, he always responds quickly.

Which is why it’s concerning that, in the middle of the day and during work hours, he’s not even read it. 

When another few seconds pass and she receives nothing back, she hazards another text. 

Chloe: Lucifer? U there?

Nada. 

She presses the call button and waits for his honey-smooth tones to crackle through the line- most likely complaining about her usage of a mobile phone when they’re literally in the same building. After ringing for waaaayyy too long, his voice finally comes through. 

‘Lucifer Morningstar here, I’m afraid I’m too busy right now to get to the phone- I’m balls-deep inside a Brittany, probably. Apologies if it was important. If you called for the best night of your life, press 1, if you’re after a deal, press 2, and if you’re the Detective, press 3. Hope to hear from you very soon’ 

His sultry purrs shoot tingles across her skin and she finds it adorable that he has a specific part of his voicemail dedicated to her calls, but the fact of the matter is that he didn’t answer. It went straight to voicemail. 

A beep trills and she hangs up, breath caught in her throat. Why has he gone dark all of a sudden?

Did he collapse or something? Is he just ignoring her? Why?

The thoughts squawking at her inside her own head are interrupted suddenly as a loud noise echoes through the huge space. 

Thump. 

What. On earth. Was that.  
Fearing the worst, Chloe sprints towards the entryway in the wall. Her heart beats nervously and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from making a sound. 

Finally, she reaches the door. The unmistakeable ‘kerthunk, kerthunk, kerthunk’ of something heavy being dragged seeps through the thin layer of brick between her and the other room. 

Stilling her shaking hands, she turns the doorknob as quietly as possible. Another nearly empty room creeps into her vision with each inch she reveals, and then she spots him. 

Unconscious. Near the middle of the room. 

All sense leaves her brain. All that matters is him. What happened?

She slides through the door and keeps her eyes on him, coming to kneel beside him on the hard concrete. He’s un-naturally still, eyes closed and laying awkwardly. There’s no way he would’ve chosen to just nap on the floor, no matter how tired he appeared. No. He’s been knocked out. 

‘Lucifer’ she urges, panicked. ‘Wake up. Lucifer!’

A quick slap to his cheek doesn’t even cause him to stir. Is he even breathing?

Did he fall? Did someone do this to him?

The murderer. She’d basically forgotten about the-

Just as the realisation hits her, so does something else. 

Before she can register it properly, the ground comes to meet her and everything is dark.


	5. The Calm Before the Storm

Chloe’s eyes are open but they register nothing initially, darting around the consuming blackness for any discernible feature and finding none. A dull throbbing pain jabs at the back of her head. The residue of being knocked out with a baseball bat. She feels around for the impending blood but finds it all long-dried- how long has she been there? The last thing she remembers is going to check on her partner after not hearing him for a while...

Her partner. 

Lucifer.

She blinks, the difference between the empty space between her eyes and her eyelids practically the same as the shrouding gloom of her surroundings. Eventually, her vision adjusts and she can make out a wall. Then another. And another. 

They’ve essentially been thrown into a concrete box. 

Great. 

Impenetrable stone bricks glare at her as she gets to grips with the room around her. There’s no furniture in there aside from a dented steel bucket, if you can even count that. Her eyes fix on the tall metal frame of a door, barred across with thick ruts of grey metal to stop them from escaping. 

She lets out a laugh that comes out hysterical. Lucifer is an enigma to her, but one thing she does know is that those fixings won’t stop him from getting out. 

Lucifer.

Her addled brain recognises that she hasn’t even seen him yet. 

She forces her aching eyes to search the room, expecting to see him sat up somewhere just waiting for her to come to. Instead, it takes a while for her to comprehend that the lanky bundle of dark materials with protruding tufts of hair curled against the floor in the corner is her partner. What had they done to him?

Her legs aren’t cooperating with her so she opts to drag herself clumsily across the cold concrete to reach him. The first thing she notices is that he’s shivering. Hard. She doesn’t feel too cold herself, but maybe the shock hasn’t worn off yet for her? Whatever the case, Lucifer’s taken his impromptu trip to a random dank room pretty badly. 

In the low light, she can barely see him. Touching it is, then.

She reaches for the hair on the back of his head and feels some strands crusted together with dried blood. His wound is still bleeding, unlike hers, oozing the sticky substance onto her hands. Fuck. A pool of the stuff is gathered beside his head, she can see, a concerning amount.   
Why is he still bleeding?

‘Lucifer’ she croaks, voice scraping. ‘Lucifer!’

He emits a noise akin to a groan mixed with a desperate breath, then exhales shakily.  
‘Tective?’

Thank God he’s awake.   
‘Yes, yes it’s me!’ she assures him, stroking blindly at his face, which is a little colder than she’s used to. 

‘Got to... Gettup..’ she hears him mumble, and then his exerted breaths move from the ground to the air beside the wall. 

After the movement, he sits slumped against the stone, head resting against the freezing bricks like he’s totally drained of energy. She allows him this short respite, knowing the next task she’s going to ask him to do may be hard in his current state. If her tired brain is remembering correctly, the last time she’d tasked him with knocking down a door, he’d shied away from the request. 

Perhaps with their lives on the line he’d reconsider using his supernatural force. 

‘Lucifer’ she begins, having waited for his breathing to become less strained. ‘We need to get out of here. There’s a door. Could you...?’

The question trails off, meaning clear. He doesn’t reply immediately and the silence is more disconcerting than any refusal. 

‘Not right now’ he finally croaks, pained by the admittance. 

Not now? When will his incredible power kick in, then?!

Stay calm, Chloe, she reminds herself. No point in kicking him while he’s down. 

‘I jus... Need to ge’ my bearings.’ He breathes. 

Waiting is not ideal, but they don’t appear to have much choice. 

‘Okay.’ She tells him, finding one arm of his suit and rubbing it up and down gently. 

They relax into a comfortable silence- well, as comfortable as they can be while trapped in a room in the middle of who knows where. The darkness is enveloping, peaceful even. Her eyes drift lightly shut. 

She’s woken up some time later by a brightness creeping through her eyelids, dazzlingly present in contrast to the previous conditions. When she opens her eyes, an artificial light fixture much like the ones in the precinct stares back at her, filling the now-visible room with overwhelming luminescence. Not much really changes, though, since the bucket is their only physical company there. 

She can see Lucifer more clearly, however. He’s paler than she’s ever seen him, the blood on his crisp white shirt the brightest thing about him now. 

Chloe doesn’t quite know how to describe it, but usually he exudes brilliance. 

People say that some smiles just ‘light up a room’. Lucifer’s presence is like a billion smiles, normally.

His breaths are less laboured now, though. Always look for positives- Ella would certainly preach that if she were there. 

He comes to a little slower than she does, eyes surveying the room at half-mast before he wakes up fully and pulls himself more upright with a pained-sounding hiss. 

One of the latches on the metal door is flung across, and the great hunk of metal begins to move. For a moment Chloe gets her hopes up that it’s the LAPD, come to rescue her and Lucifer- or maybe Maze. The self-proclaimed demon’s face would have been, ironically, like a godsend at that point.

Unfortunately, it’s not the police or her room-mate. The face that peeks through the widening gap isn’t someone she knows personally, but it’s recognisable as somebody she’s encountered... Maybe at work?  
The man sports a rather thin countenance, weasel-like eyes. They’re brown, but not like Lucifer’s. Her partner’s are warm, welcoming. The stranger’s are cold and dismissive.   
His nose is slightly crooked; just enough to seem out of place in comparison to the rest of his relatively normal features. If she had to guess, Chloe would say the guy looks like a shady businessman- off-putting and strange but unknown to the police.

It snaps into place. 

‘Hi, Jacob’ she greets unkindly. ‘Care to explain why you’ve decided to take us hostage?’

Jacob stares at her, expression stony, unwavering. ‘I need something.’

She eyes him curiously. What would he want so much that he was willing to kidnap people for?

‘Money’ he continues, as if he’s read her mind. ‘And a lot of it. See, I haven’t been doing too good for cash recently, so I figured I’d get myself on your radar then hold you ransom. It was simple enough.’

She seethes silently. Lucifer is glaring at him too, though doesn’t appear to be making any move to attack. 

‘How much?’ Chloe asks, because there’s always a chance that her wacko-but-sweet civilian consultant will have a ridiculous amount of money on his person.

‘2 million.’

Right. Probably not that much. 

Before she can try to negotiate, Lucifer has managed to get to his feet and is approaching Jacob, posture more hunched than usual but still utterly encapsulating. 

‘Tell me, Jacob’ he starts, breathily. ‘Is that really what you desire? How about we... Come to an arrangement, eh?’

Their kidnapper blinks hazily, tugged into that trance-like state that Lucifer is so good at inducing.

‘I...I’

‘Yes?’ Lucifer prods, raising his eyebrows and following the man’s shifting gaze. 

Then, as quickly as he’s brought into it, Jacob shakes his head of the charm and affixes Lucifer with a confused expression. He steps back into the doorway, does a quick double-take, and then disappears into the unknown space behind the metal door, slamming it shut as he does so.

‘What WAS that?’ Chloe can’t help but question. ‘Is he a hypnotist too, or...?’

But Lucifer is still watching the now-closed door with wide eyes. 

****************************  
After staring at the metal of the door for far too long, he forces himself to pull away.

His mojo is gone. 

It solidifies a fact that he’d been afraid to face- that his Mother hadn’t only been making a threat that she’d never carry out. She is actually choosing to kill her own son just to get his attention. 

He wants to vomit. He wants to cry out for help. He wants to let himself break. 

Because he’s scared. Not just for him, but for Chloe. 

If he dies in the cell, she’ll be left alone, to the mercy of the kidnappers, and he can’t let that happen. Death may have its icy fingers wrapped around his shoulder, but he will resist its pull. No matter how tempting. 

How long he has left he doesn’t quite know. It could be months before he finally succumbs, or it could be minutes. Lucifer can’t possibly predict the sadistic form of death she’ll make him suffer. 

A selfish part of him wills it be quick, so that his limbs will stop aching soon and he can sink into a blissful sleep before waking up back home. The other part nagging at him tells him that if that happens, though, he won’t be around long enough to protect Chloe- so, long and agonising it is. If it means he can stick around long enough to see her out of this alive, it’s worth it. 

She’s wearing a worried expression when he turns to her. The last thing he wants is to scare her.

He makes the muscles in his face contract to form a smile, the action rebelling against every emotion he feels. But he has to reassure her. 

She pats the concrete beside her like it’s a comfortable leather sofa, and he eases himself to a seating position where she’s gesturing. 

At the moment, he doesn’t feel too bad. The laceration at the back of his head is still weeping steadily, but it’s not life-threatening. He feels weak, of course, too, though that’s no reason for a sudden death. 

He gulps. He’s playing Russian Roulette, except all of the chambers are filled. 

Like the days prior, he’s unbelievably tired. Except now he can’t afford to go to sleep. 

‘Can you... Do it yet?’

Her voice is small and hopeful. She has too much faith in him and he’s going to have to let her down.

‘Chloe, I... I don’t think I’ll be able to.’

Her eyebrows crease. ‘What do you mean? Why?’

There’s the question he’s been avoiding. And he knows damn well that he can’t lie to her.

‘I... appear to be having some trouble with my celestial strength.’ He says, because it’s not technically a lie. That is what’s happening, except it’s a more... Permanent decline. 

She bites her lip. ‘Damn. What are we going to do?’

And he can’t answer her. He doesn’t know. One thing he is sure about is that he’s going to find a way for the detective to get out of there. Even if he isn’t with her. 

‘I’ll figure something out, Detective. Don’t you worry.’

***********************************  
Hours later, Jacob re-enters the room briefly to throw them a couple of plastic water bottles and then promptly leaves. Though their chance of escape has been missed, Chloe is too thirsty to care. 

She grabs the first bottle that rolls towards her and greedily tears off the gap, gulping the sweet ambrosia down and being careful not to let a drop trickle down her chin. Her brain is telling her to slow down, because she doesn’t know the next time they’ll get a drink. It doesn’t matter to her throat, though, still parched and gasping for more. So she drinks and drinks until the plastic crinkles beneath her fingers, totally empty. 

The other water bottle still lays untouched on the concrete floor, about a meter from where Lucifer is sitting, but he doesn’t even reach out for it.

He seems to notice her looking at him strangely, because he says ‘you take it, Chloe. You’re thirsty.’

Her eyes dart from the bottle to her partner, and she knows that no matter the demands of both her cracked lips and Lucifer, he needs to stop being stubborn and drink. 

‘I know it’s not whiskey' she says, shuffling towards him. ‘But it’s water and you need it. I’ve already had enough water to last me for a while, Luce.’

Perhaps a few days ago she would have cringed at the idea of using that nickname with him, but now that they’re trapped together with no current hope of escaping, it seems fitting that they should feel closer. 

He blinks tiredly and nods. ‘kay...’

So she picks up the water and kneels in front of him, deciding that pouring a capful out for him is the best idea for now. She’s seen him get sick in the past few days; wasting precious water is the last thing they want. 

She lifts the brimming blue cap to his lips and he drinks it.  
‘Thank you’ he murmurs. ‘I’m sorry about not being much of a help right now... I’ve never needed sleep before but for once I’m just so tired.’

It can’t hurt to let him rest for a while, right?  
She tells him as such. 

‘Just take a quick nap, I’m here and not going anywhere for the time being. I’ll wake you if something happens, promise.’

She gives him a spoken vow and an expressive one, blazing blue eyes dismissing any doubts from his mind. 

Too exhausted to protest, he carefully lowers himself to the floor with a grunt and shudders. She can see that those sparkling eyes have lost some of their glint as he closes them and tries to relax. 

It can’t be a comfortable position, lying there, she thinks. He’d given her his jacket so many times, it seemed only fair for her to return the favour. She pulled the leather from her back and rolled it into a makeshift pillow, gently lifting Lucifer’s head and resting it on the material so he could at least have some chance of not waking up with a cricked neck. 

He’s still so pale and she doesn’t know what the hell to do about it. Something is clearly wrong, and if they were out in the world, she’d just take him to a hospital. Their predicament means that’s not an option. 

She hopes that it’s just a bad concussion and unrelated to his previous illness, as unlikely as that is. It keeps her going. 

If he gets worse, she might have to face Mr Erikkson alone, without her powerful partner to pick her up off the floor and dust her off ready to fight another day. 

The roles are suddenly reversed, and she’s terrified about it. He has made it his utmost duty to protect her, and now she will do everything she can to protect him. 

But that’s a thought that will remain tucked up in the back of her mind for now- in her dreamed reality, he’ll wake up and everything will be fine with him. His super strength will have magically returned, and he’ll punch open the door like it’s made of paper. She can go home to Trixie and a nice warm bed, with endless Disney film marathons and cuddles. 

In fact, the sleep seems to be doing something to him, even in the short space of an hour that he’s had. Maybe it’s all in her head, but the pasty white skin now resembles a healthier colour and the bags in his eyes are... unnoticeable. 

Maybe everything will turn out fine in the end, after all. 

Or maybe this is the calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey, huge apologies for not updating sooner- you've heard it all before, school work Yadda Yadda but yeah, it's been tough and the times where I've been motivated to write, I haven't been able to. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think; my favourite part of writing is seeing people experience the story chapter by chapter :)
> 
> I'm trying to update regularly but I really don't know when life will get in the way so I'm not promising any kind of regular schedule unfortunately- though as it stands, I should be able to start uploading a LITTLE more frequently.
> 
> It's also worth noting that I will NEVER EVER leave a series like this unfinished. 
> 
> Though it may seem ages before I write another chapter, I'm not going to abandon this fic. I've suffered the frustration that I'm sure you guys have felt before too, when a fic that you're reading just gets left and it's been years since an update.
> 
> That's not going to happen here, promise. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see ya in the next one when I see ya!
> 
> PS. Even if this one isn't being updated on a day, it's likely that I'm writing something else so go check out my oneshots maybe (or another series!). I often write them when I don't have the motivation to carry on a long work like this but still want to write something Lucifer so it might be worth your while :)


	6. Broken Dreams

The next time Mr Erikkson checks on them, he’s wielding a phone camera. 

‘Need to prove you’re alive. Can’t get a ransom if you’re dead.’

Lucifer has been awake for about an hour, seemingly feeling a little revitalised by the powernap. They’d sat side by side in relative silence, scheming for ways to break out but chancing on nothing except Lucifer’s hope that his ‘celestial’ strength would return. She needn’t remind him that this is no time for metaphors. 

‘Are you not going to get us something to eat?’ Chloe ventures, aware that she’s pushing it. The guy doesn’t look capable of a lot of damage, though she really can’t be sure when he’s clearly killed someone. Whatever. They need to eat.

Jacob merely chuckles. ‘You’ll eat when I say you can. Now smile for the camera, sweetheart.’

He holds the phone a few inches from her face and then presses the capture button. Chloe doesn’t smile. Next, he moves on to Lucifer, who eyes him with such distaste that even this bona fide murderer doesn’t dare get too close. Once the shutter has sounded and they’re both immortalised in the photos, Jacob jogs out of the room without even giving them a second glance.

‘Well, that was rude’ Lucifer quips, and Chloe can’t help but laugh. It’s nice to see him at least a bit more ‘with it’. 

‘Yeah, well, the dude kidnapped us so I doubt he’s too familiar with etiquette.’

Lucifer smiles at her, the corners of his mouth crinkling. ‘Touché.’

The silence stretches out as they get accustomed to being alone with each other again. She sighs, not even realising as she does it, but of course Lucifer notices. He takes her hand in his and leans forward a little to look at her. 

‘Are you okay? I’ll get you out of here, you know. I just have to figure out a way. I might have to actually request the help of my brother, though I’d hate to look needy. I suppose this is the sort of situation that warrants the use of prayer.’

And back with the damn metaphors. Anger wells inside her and she wants to lash out at him for still sticking with the whole ‘devil’ thing even when their lives are in clear danger. He’s a fragile man, sure, but some situations require at least an ounce of seriousness- and this is one of them. Instead of yelling at him, she bites her lip and takes another deep breath. She’ll confront him about the metaphors AFTER they’re out of harm’s way.

When she looks at him next, his eyes are closed but he isn’t sleeping; rather his hands are pressed together as if he’s praying. Is he actually trying to make contact with his brother in this way or is this a desperate attempt at discovering his faith? Whether it’s the first or the latter, he’s putting almost extreme effort into reaching something or someone. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are clenched shut, and he’s tensing far more than she ever thought necessary for normal prayer.

Eventually, he relaxes, exhaling in frustration and running a hand through his hair. He’d always been hard to read, but the way he fidgets as the silence continues is a clear sign that he’s afraid. 

Of what, exactly, she doesn’t know. She shoots him a look, worry expressed in her eyes and he plasters on an unconvincing smile, shifting from scared to confident and suave in the blink of an eye.   
God, he’s complicated sometimes. Perhaps his concerns are better left unsaid. 

In the ensuing minutes, she finds herself thinking about home. About reading her daughter a bedtime story or even just sitting at her desk in the precinct. Will they ever get out of this place? 

2 million dollars is a lot of money, but she knows Dan will do everything to either summon it or bust them out of there himself. It’s just a chilling thought that she’ll never get to say goodbye to her daughter. 

Lucifer had made her a promise, though- and if one thing was for sure, he never lied. 

She can only hope that the fear present on his countenance only moments before had had nothing to do with his plan for their escape.

**********************************  
The precinct is abuzz when the semi-simultaneous ‘ping’ of an email rings out from practically every device in the building. Chatter dies down within seconds into an uncomfortable silence. Faces immediately glance down from whatever conversation or work they’re doing to check the alert, and the reaction is the same all around- shock. 

Ella receives the alert at the same time as everyone else, and so does Dan; the only thing that’s different for them is the way their colleagues are looking at them. It’s un-nerving- the same look officers give grieving families when delivering bad news. It’s even more un-nerving when they actually click on it, because this doesn’t mean Chloe and Lucifer can’t be saved. Yet the precinct is treating them as if they should be preparing a funeral procession already. 

It’s short and doesn’t give away much information at all, only that their colleagues have been kidnapped and are being held captive for a ransom. 

The guy wants two million dollars. A sizeable amount. Explains the look they got, because if the perpetrator is insistent on not letting them go without the money, Lucifer and Chloe may never see the light of day again. 

When they scroll, two pictures are revealed. One is of Chloe, stare stony and unyielding, even when only metres away from a likely-deranged psycho. The other is taken a few steps further away, which makes Ella want to smile despite it all. Typical Lucifer, managing to scare the crap out of his own kidnapper. The look on his face screams ‘I am going to obliterate you when I get the chance’, but he doesn’t seem as well put-together as usual. His hair is slightly ruffled, and there’s a distinct pallor in his cheeks like he’s just recovering from the flu. Even more noticeable is the blood spatter on his shirt.

They hurt him. 

Ella is going to deal with that piece of shit.

For now, though, all they can do is scroll a little further down to the end of the email. An ominous sentence finishes it off.

‘Send the money to this address within 24 hours or they die.’

*****************************  
Chloe learns pretty soon that chugging the water was probably not a good idea. She needs to pee. Badly.

The bucket at the edge of the room taunts her, and it really wouldn’t be too bad to use it, would it? There’s not an alternative as far as she’s aware, so it’s either let go of her dignity and crouch over the nasty metal receptacle or lose all of her dignity entirely and wet herself. 

She doesn’t realise she’s been staring at the bucket until Lucifer speaks up.

‘You can use it, you know’ he says nonchalantly. ‘I promise I won’t hold it against you. So long as you don’t hold it against ME when I have to eventually go.’

She expected many things, but not this. Some dirty joke, perhaps? A quip about having a piss kink or something along those lines, because he really does know how to be inappropriate at the worst possible times. But, for once, he’s being serious.

‘You sure?’ she checks, cheeks burning. 

‘Of course, Detective. I’m not so cruel as to make you suffer when there’s an easy solution right in front of you. I’ll even avert my eyes if it makes you feel better.’ He tells her, smiling kindly. 

She chuckles, grateful. ‘Thank you, Lucifer. I won’t be too long.’

To her amazement, he actually makes an effort to turn around and even cover his eyes for extra precaution, just to alleviate her anxieties. He really can be thoughtful when he tries. 

Her mind is screaming at her not to go in front of her most immature colleague, but her bladder has other ideas. She sighs in relief. 

And then:

‘Sounds like you’re frying bacon over there. Wonder if Mr Kidnapper would be so kind as to provide us with some food too.’

Lucifer’s back. 

**************************  
Hard as they try, they can’t properly trace the email. 

Dan’s been hunched over his computer for hours now, trying desperately to find any clues that might hint towards Lucifer and Chloe’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, the plain stone wall behind them in the photos doesn’t give too much away at all. 

The whole of the LAPD is now working on the case, too- Chloe may be the far finer Detective, but Lucifer is the one that attracts most attention at work, so now it’s his life on the line that’s really making people panic. Although both Dan and Ella are angry that their colleagues don’t seem to care too much for Decker’s welfare, they’re glad that at least the prospect of no more donuts brought in by their favourite civilian consultant is enough to rouse the officers into somewhat of a working frenzy. Still, nothing much is revealed about the case. 

The most obvious candidate for committing the abduction is Jacob Erikkson, since it was his location that the two partners had been trying to ascertain before they had been taken. Clearly, the guy is smarter than he looks, because he’s turned off practically every method of tracking there is available. 

There’s one way to get his phone’s GPS, though. It’s a long shot, and one which would take far more time than they truly have available, but it’s their only hope. If they can only stall...

**********************************  
If there’s one thing the Goddess hates, it’s stalling. And it appears Lucifer is doing exactly that.

She’s tried to contact him many times, but now when she reaches out, it’s like empty space. Radio silence. As if she’s trying to pray to a mortal. 

Her son had always had cheek, but completely cutting himself off from her? Unacceptable. She didn’t even think it were possible! 

There’s always the chance that this is caused by the curse of an illness she’s put on him- an avenue she’s not willing to walk down. It must be the act of a belligerent son and nothing more. 

So, rather than relaxing the curse, she increases its intensity. She’d given him more than enough time to make up for not staying in touch and utilise his powers for her assistance, and now it was time to make her intentions crystal clear. 

If he didn’t leave the Detective and help his mother, he would certainly die. 

****************************  
Chloe observes Lucifer for the next few hours. She knows he must be hiding something from her. 

The sickly pallor is back with a vengeance within the span of a few minutes. It’s truly unusual. 

One minute, he’s speaking to her and making jokes just like normal. The next, he’s too quiet for her liking. In all her years working with people, she’s never seen declines so fast, which worries her deeply. 

She can’t lose him. Not now. 

Not anytime.

Life-threatening situations are always the best for affirming your feelings about certain things, or certain people. It’s only when you don’t know whether you’ll get the chance to confront them after the fact that you’re dunked in the river of sudden realisation. Chloe has just been baptised by its waters.  
She feels things for Lucifer. Intense things that she can’t even really describe, and that she’s been pushing back out of ‘professionalism’ and his immaturity. 

Now there’s something wrong with him, she feels the emotions even the more. 

The question she’d posed him in the cruiser outside the warehouse creeps up in her mind. She’d asked him if he was okay, and he’d begged her not to ask him that. It seemed fairly trivial at the time, another enigma to be cracked about him, but now it appears far darker. 

Does he know something about what’s going on with him that he’s not telling her?

If so, why won’t he admit it?

Is he scared?

She hopes not. But glancing over at him only makes her concerns look more justified. Buried in the depths of the warm brown eyes on that sweat-soaked face is something she rarely witnesses in Lucifer.

Fear. 

****************************  
He feels awful. No other words are fitting. 

The intense weakness washes over him in a tidal wave, instantly sucking him under and drowning him within seconds. 

Lucifer had thought that he’d experienced the worst of it, that his mother had finally given in and let him free of her iron grasp. The realisation that his feeling of wellness might never return again makes his stomach roll even more. 

He can tell that Chloe knows. Of course she bloody knows. 

They’ve been partners for years. She knows him better than anyone else, in a strange manner of speaking. Because even though his remarks about ‘celestial’ qualities are just peculiar metaphors to her compared to the truth they are to Linda, Chloe knows more about the real him than anybody else in existence. 

She knows his weaknesses and his strengths, just like he knows hers. So, of course, when he’s leaning in a devilish mess against the wall, she can tell that something is wrong. She shoots him glances that ask him to reveal what the hell is going on, but for once he has to look away from her piercing and beautiful eyes. 

She can’t know that he’s dying. They’re in a bad enough situation as is without him complicating matters further. 

If things get worse, he’ll be forced to spill the beans. For now, though, he’ll just have to try to stop himself from up-chucking everywhere or passing out. The jig will be up if he shows any weakness.   
One glaring truth remains- he can’t tell her a lie. If she asks, he will have to tell her. Avoiding the question at this point is impossible, because that would only concern her more and put a large rift between them. He doesn’t want to do that, not when he’s slowly perishing. Every moment with her needs to be worth it now. 

He shudders. Fuck. 

They’ll never get the chance for an actual date. 

When he closes his eyes for a moment, the picture is clear as day. A candle-lit evening, romantic music playing quietly through the stereo speakers, and a meal on his balcony with her. She looks absolutely radiant in a sleek, cherry dress. 

Red has always been her colour. 

He’s prepared her some food himself, and they eat. When they’re finished, the lower edge of the sky burns vermilion, and up above, his stars begin to show themselves.

He tells her how he feels, finally. And she reciprocates.

Their kiss is sweet and chaste. He’d never wanted something like that, non-sexual, until Chloe Decker had come onto the scene. Now, it’s all he desires. 

The sight awaiting him when he opens his eyes crushes those dreams under a vicious closed fist. Life isn’t as sweet as we often hope. 

But when she takes his hand after seeing him fight back tears, thinking he’s scared beyond his wits about their kidnapping, it’s worth any amount of pain.


	7. A Celestial Sledgehammer

It’s been far too long, Chloe thinks. 

Far too long since Jacob has come to check on them.

Far too long since she’s last seen her daughter.

Far too long since Lucifer has last spoken.

When their kidnapper had last gracefully appeared, it had been to divulge his plans for the ransom- and his plans to kill them if he didn’t receive the money within 24 hours. 

It can’t be too long to go now. 

At the very least, she won’t go out too hungry. Jacob had also thrown a paper bag in the last time he’d seen them, a grease-soaked haven of a burger and fries that fill the air with a tantalising aroma. Lucifer refused her initial encouragements to eat, but when he saw her look of concern he picked at a few fries lethargically.  
For a man who’s so overly indulgent normally, it was... Worrying. 

After finishing, he’d slunk back to his spot by the wall and closed his eyes, which is where he remains now. Whether he’s asleep or just resting his eyes is a question she can’t answer, though the even rising and falling of his chest points her towards the former. 

What the hell has happened to him?

She hadn’t seen the kidnapper slip him any drugs that could’ve had such an effect, and his quick recovery and then subsequent decline doesn’t fit with that train of thought anyway. 

Is this normal for a concussion? That’s the only reasonable explanation she can come up with for his unusual demeanour, and the one that puts her mind at ease the most. 

She can’t think about the possible ramifications of this yet- how he’s getting worse.

Instead, she chooses to sidle up next to him and try to get some sleep as well. 

*******************************  
Time is running out and they’re no closer to finding out where Lucifer and Chloe are. 

Any clues that they find about Jacob’s whereabouts end up trailing off into nothing, with not so much as a general area to start searching. That’s the scariest bit- that their colleagues could be absolutely anywhere, not just in LA. 

They’d started their work there, of course, but every hour the field had widened until now it sits at practically the whole of America. 

6 hours remain. 

The clock’s ticking is close to driving Ella insane, and Dan looks on the verge of a mental breakdown with his wild hair and crazed eyes. Their desperation is obvious to the co-workers around them, who have now mostly decided to keep their distance. It’s cruel, but ultimately quite understandable. Their tempers are frayed to bits and they’d probably end up snapping at anyone for the smallest of things.

Worry does strange things to a person. 

Ella has surprisingly been the one to keep her head throughout the ordeal. Dan hasn’t been so lucky. 

Multiple times he’s broken down outright after yet another call from the babysitter about Trixie. The little girl is absolutely terrified, justifiably, about the safety of her mother and is practically inconsolable. 

Other times, he has to run out of the room towards the bathroom as his fears manifest themselves in the churning of his stomach. All the while, Ella is there to help him through the anxieties.

Hope is her thing, however hard it is to maintain now. It still swirls in her chest and flows through her veins with a ferocity she’d never have expected in such a scenario, telling her that no matter what happens, everything will be okay. 

That, even if they find themselves at the end of said 24 hours, Lucifer and Chloe will make it out alive. 

It’s a strange sensation, but she clings to it as their metaphorical rescue boat sinks beneath the icy waves. 

*****************************  
As the door to their room swings open and hits the wall with a clang, Chloe knows that it’s all over. 

The fury on Jacob’s face is evident, from the ruddiness of his cheeks to the knitting of his brow. His fists hang stiffly at his sides, clenched tightly, and he’s slightly hunched over in the doorframe. 

When he speaks, it’s rough and breathless.  
‘Your friends at the LAPD have proven wholly unhelpful’ he growls, lip curling in anger. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this, but I keep my end of the bargain.’

Though Chloe tries to hide her fear behind a veil of indifference to his clear rage, her heart pounds noisily in her ears and his speech is muffled with the rush of blood to her head. She thinks she might pass out. 

Lucifer is still slumped against the wall beside her, but at least now his eyes are open and filled with that familiar infuriation she witnesses whenever they catch a killer. His breaths are ragged and the sweat still glistens at his forehead, illuminated by the buzzing light overhead. 

Jacob takes another step forward, practically shaking, and Lucifer breathes sharply as he pushes his trembling body up to full size. Having not stood for quite some time, he sways slightly, though his stature is still intimidating when he rolls his shoulders back and pushes the discomfort away to appear ready for a fight. 

Their kidnapper laughs gruffly, revealing the flash of a wicked grin. The sight of it is nauseating, a mimicry of Lucifer’s usual shit-eating smiles but twisted into something abominable.  
‘Really? Just sit yourself down and make this easier for the both of us. We can all see you’re in no position to defend yourself or your detective sweetheart.’

Momentarily forgetting her inhibitions, Chloe pipes up.  
‘What did you do to him?’

Her tone is threatening, laced with promises of immediate bodily harm if the piece of shit admits to drugging her partner with anything. 

His response is somehow worse.

‘I didn’t touch your buddy, honey, except to knock him out like I did you.’ He sneers. ‘As much as I’d love to take credit, this turn of events is completely unexpected.’  
The words hit her harshly. If Jacob has nothing to do with Lucifer’s illness, then that means something else is going on. Maybe something worse. 

Before she has time to contemplate this, their kidnapper steps forward once more.  
‘Now, before I was so rudely interrupted...’ he tosses her an irritated glance. ‘I have a deal to hold up.’

A deal.

The choice of phrasing reminds her of Lucifer’s strange business before this whole scenario, of handing out deals and favours to people attending his club. It reminds her of the cheeky glint in his eye when he closes on one, the very same glint that is present every time he uses his hypnotist trick to draw out people’s desires. The way the people he talks to loosen up in an instant and offer him their deepest secrets is something that still impresses her. 

But now the word ‘deal’ is tainted with the stain of Mr Erikkson.

As if thinking his name is enough to move him, the man carries on approaching her. Now that he’s closer, she can make out the shape of a pistol in his hands- the very same one she’d lost after being knocked out.

To be killed with her own weapon is a brutal way to go. 

Then, Lucifer has his hands on Jacob’s chest and is pushing him away, weaker than usual but still strong enough to make him stumble backwards precariously. The thought of him using his last reserves to save her is.... unbelievable. 

‘You won’ touch her’ Lucifer huffs, wheezing dangerously from the small action but still standing as tall as he can. 

‘Cute’ Jacob snarls, batting him away like he’s an annoying fly. ‘But you won’t make a difference in this outcome, bud.’

Lucifer doesn’t relent. Instead, he pushes forward again and stands between Jacob and Chloe, chest heaving.  
‘No.’

This time, Jacob shoves him. Hard. Drained, Lucifer collapses onto the floor next to her, already lifting his arm to protect her. His breaths are rattling, and Chloe is afraid that at any moment he’s going to pass out. He has his arm around her, weakly holding her like his arm behind her back can do anything to stop a bullet. 

By the time Jacob aims his gun at her, Chloe has her eyes squeezed shut. This is it. 

She’ll never see Trixie again. 

Never get to reunite with Dan and Ella like she had hoped. 

Never confess her feelings for Lucifer. 

The sound of the gun being fired is clear in the air, accompanied by a pained yell, long and devastating. It’s not coming from her, though, rather from beside her, the straining scream deeper than she could ever sound. 

Even stranger is the absence of pain. 

She’s been shot before; knows the immediate jolt of agony a gunshot wound brings. The blinding pain that overtakes every other sensation and sucks the air from your lungs. 

Now, she feels nothing but panic. Perhaps shock has set in already?

She opens her eyes hesitantly, but is met with a wall of patchy white that is trembling and twitching violently. 

Wings?

Faintly from outside the cocoon, she hears ‘oh my God’ and the smattering of foot steps on the concrete as someone (likely their kidnapper) runs in fear from this winged beast. Something slams shut, and Chloe breathes a sigh of relief which fades in an instant. 

This winged beast is Lucifer. 

Lucifer. 

Has. 

Wings. 

Despite knowing within her that he’s good, the overwhelming urge to GET OUT fills her thoughts and so she jumps forward and pulls the feathers apart to reveal the light of the room. As she crawls out, and lets go, the feathers she’s been holding break loose from the wing and flutter to the ground. As if instinctually realising that there’s nobody within to protect anymore, the great avian arcs spread apart and fall lifelessly to the floor at Lucifer’s sides. One wing is stained with blood that soaks across multiple feathers, presumably from the gunshot it had taken in saving her life. 

Lucifer saved her life. 

Lucifer. 

His head is tipped forward to his chest and she can barely tell if he’s breathing. Luckily, it appears he is, since the wings at his back lightly lift up and down regularly in time with his chest. 

Now she’s sure he can’t be dead, the desire to see his wings replaces her initial anxiety. 

They’re not awfully dissimilar from a bird’s, she realises, in shape and proportion. The main difference is the actual size and rigidity of them. The primaries are long and pointed at the ends, sharp like natural daggers, and she infers that they’re to be used as weapons in the right circumstances. There are softer areas, in the downy feathers further up and nearer to Lucifer’s back. Chloe wants so badly to touch them, to feel the velvety vanes with her hands, but she stops herself- firstly because he’s injured, and secondly because some part of her still fears this creature. 

Its hard to connect the arrogant yet charming club owner with the feathery mess crumpled in front of her. 

The more she stares, the more she learns. There’s no doubt in her mind that his wings are not meant to look as they are, faded white feathers dangling precariously from them with patches in between from where some have clearly fallen out. Some areas bleeding, some just moulted, and others covered in feathers that appear mangled and twisted. 

Her senses and the connotations of this reveal hit her instantly, a celestial sledgehammer to the face. Lucifer has been telling the truth this whole time, and lying exhausted in a pile is a literal angel. 

Heaven and Hell. 

God. 

Demons. 

Angels. 

All terrifyingly real. 

The idea that she’s been working alongside one of God’s own sons is crazy. It’s like finding out that your best friend is actually Jesus. Totally whacko.

The whole ‘Devil’ thing, however, is a concept that she needs to get to grips with later. Because right now she has a half-dead ex-soldier of God to tend to and Chloe doesn’t think she can deal with facing the facts about his occupation while she needs to help him. 

What’s important now is making sure he’s okay, and trying to find a way out, which has been made that much more impossible since their kidnapper’s departure. Of course, in his hurry to flee from the strange captive who’d just sprouted wings, he’d let the door close. 

How on earth are they to get out now?

She paces the floor, hoping to find a key to get out that coincidentally may have dropped from Jacobs pocket. Then Lucifer groans. 

Before she can think about it, she’s by his side. Screw angelic nonsense for now, he needs her. 

‘Hey, it’s Chloe’ she tells him, kneeling and leaning down to look at him with his head still bent. ‘Jacob’s gone, I think you scared him off. You okay?’

He snorts and coughs as he half-chokes on air and scrambles to pull himself properly upright again, raising his head up weakly to look at her. 

‘C’loe?’ 

The half-lidded pallor and obvious sickness about him set against the backdrop of concern for HER on his face melts away her stresses about his identity. How can he be worried about her when he looks so... Un-Lucifer?

‘Yeah... It’s okay, I... You saved me.’ She stammers. 

He nods distantly. ‘Mhm.’

‘You used the last of your energy to... Save me. Why?’

He tilts his head in confusion and blinks sluggishly. ‘Can’t le’ you die’

‘But what about you? You’re hurt, Lucifer. Your wing is bleeding.’

He slowly turns his head to glance at his wings, as if he’s only just noticed they’re out. Which may have been the case, now that she thinks about his look of surprise.  
‘Oh.’ He says, eyes gradually coming back to her face. ‘Oh well.’

He shrugs. 

His blatant nonchalance for his own safety has always nagged at her, but this has reached a new level. He doesn’t even seem to care if he dies, so long as she’s okay. 

‘Don’t you care?’ she says, eyebrows furrowed. ‘You could’ve died!’

‘Bu’ you didn’t.’ He slurs, eyelids already drooping. ‘S’all that matters.’

Then he’s gone again, back to swimming around in unconsciousness while she wracks her brain for answers that won’t appear. 

They’re trapped, more than ever. 

And the voice in the back of her head that she’s trying to ignore is only getting louder, repeating a truth that she knows but he hasn’t yet admitted. 

He’s dying.


	8. Way Down We Go

Chloe spends the next hour just thinking. There are, of course, many things to think about that she’s yet to properly address- Lucifer’s being the actual devil (and what that means), their unfortunate predicament of being trapped in what’s essentially a concrete box, and the steady decline of her partner. The last two points seem undeniably connected, because Chloe knows logically that if they can get out of there, they can get help and Lucifer should end up fine. 

Something about his dismissive acceptance, though, is terrifying. 

When they chat occasionally about plans, it’s made clear that he’s already put himself out of the equation. His wish is to help her escape, and that’s all. 

She tries asking him a few times to tell her what’s wrong, since clearly he knows that he’s dying, but he stays ominously silent when she does. If only he could inform her of his condition, she’d be able to try to find a temporary solution, or at the very least have the details to relay to the medical teams when they get out. 

It angers her. Does he not want help? Has he just completely given up already on himself?

It angers her because she cannot, and will not, just let him die without doing anything to help. And his silences are wholly unhelpful in aiding her assistance. 

‘Lucifer’ she tries, again, when he’s drifting off for the tenth time that hour. 

He looks wearily over at her and makes a vague questioning noise in his throat, like he’s too tired even to speak properly. She feels nauseous. 

‘Please tell me what’s going on’ she whispers, desperation prickling in the corners of her eyes. 

He exhales and lifts his head so he’s sat straight against the wall. With an outstretched hand, he coaxes her over and she gratefully complies, the heat of his body enough to convince her for now that he’s alive. His left arm snakes round the back of her neck to rest on her left shoulder. She melts into him and he moves his arm slightly so that he’s now playing with her hair, twirling a few strands absently between his fingers as he begins to talk.

‘I’m sure by now you’re aware that I don’t have a strong relationship with my parents.’

She nods into the material of his suit. From all that she’s heard, they’re not great. 

And. 

Wait. 

‘You mean God and... God’s wife?’ she says, jerking her head up with a start. 

He chuckles and raises an eyebrow cheekily. ‘I was wondering when you were going to put two and two together.’

‘I didn’t even know God HAD a wife!’ Chloe exclaims.

‘Well, ex-wife technically' Lucifer continues with a wry smile. ‘They used to fight a lot back when I was younger. She was the one who was formerly, and after the event on the pier, known as Charlotte Richards.’

She opens her mouth in a silent ‘o’. 

‘Anyway, divine possession aside for now... Essentially, my Dearest Mother tried to contact me after I banished her to a blank realm- I fear that one’s too complex to explain now, Detective’ he adds upon seeing Chloe’s wide-eyed expression. ‘But I ignored her calls. She likely wanted to use me for something, as is her usual reasoning for contacting me, and I was done with manipulation so I thought I’d just wait for her to get bored.’

He pauses, a twinkle of regret in his eyes. ‘I should’ve got back to her when I had the chance. Her payback for my insubordination was to curse me- she probably assumed I was spending too much time with you, so would make me... unwell... around you. Hence my condition.’

She takes it in, gazing sorrowfully at him. ‘So, you’re like this... because of me?’

Lucifer tilts his head. ‘I think I made it quite clear that this is my awful mother’s doing, Detective. This isn’t your fault.’

Chloe sighs, but moves in closer to him anyway just for the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. ‘Why didn’t you just stay away, then? And it must have been a pretty complex curse to be able to do this to you.’

‘In answer to your question, I could never stay too far from you, Detective. I hoped to just alternate between being close to you and being just far enough away for the curse not to work in order to stay functioning. I thought eventually she’d understand that I wasn’t backing down. Unfortunately, this situation has forced us to be in incredibly close proximity so I haven’t had the chance to regenerate... plus, I....’

He pauses, swallowing.

‘I fear there may be a point where there’s no going back.’

Terror pools at the bottom of Chloe’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’

He smiles sadly at her. ‘I don’t think I’m getting any better, darling. Even celestials can only take so much when it comes to facing damage from other celestials.’

She feels the hot prickling feeling at her eyes again, and this time, when she blinks, tears meander down her cheeks.   
‘You can’t die.’ She croaks. ‘I can’t just watch you die.’

He wipes her cheeks with a thumb. ‘I’m so sorry to make you go through this with me, Detective... Chloe. I really am. But you should know that I hold no regrets in spending my final hours with you. Its just a shame that they have to be so melancholy, and that you will have to bear witness to anything you don’t want to see.’  
He takes one of her hands in his. ‘I think you also deserve to know that this curse wasn’t as hard to inflict as you might think. Because I’m vulnerable around you, Detective. You make me... mortal, I suppose. I still don’t quite know why it’s that way, but it is.’

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The way that when she’d shot him back in the early days of their partnership, he’d bled, but after numerous close encounters with thugs and bad guys he’d remained unharmed. It was all down to her. 

‘I still don’t understand why you’d put yourself through that when you have the choice to just live without suffering.’ She says questioningly.

‘Because,' Lucifer begins, turning to her. ‘I would be suffering far more if I couldn’t be with you. I don’t quite know what it is, but there is something about you. I’ve never formed this kind of connection before, one not purely based on sex or lust. You are incredibly special, Chloe Jane Decker, and I would take a thousand bullets and a million trips to Hell if it meant that I could spend even five minutes in your presence.’

She tries to speak, but no words seem to be enough for what he’s just admitted to her. What does this mean? Does he love her, or is this just a feverish delusion? What is she to do about it?

‘I feel the same' she says, without thinking. She doesn’t need to think when she knows that it’s coming directly from the heart. ‘My situation is hardly alike yours, but I know that I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you even if I had to.’

He grins, understanding. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.’

She smiles too, before the realisation of everything hits again. ‘Can I do anything, or...? Do you want to carry on looking for a way out? Are you comfortable?’

He nods and closes his eyes, a barely noticeable smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘We can carry on looking for a way out in a while, I think. For now, just... sit with me?’

‘Okay’ she says, sinking deeper into him. ‘Okay.’

***********************************  
Ella watches as the clock ticks past twenty four hours, feeling sick. They’re too late. 

Perhaps Lucifer and Chloe are already dead, their bodies scattered across the concrete floor like discarded dolls. Her forensic scientist brain conjures the image of them gently holding each other, still as statues and pale as snow. Knowing that, while she takes the pictures of them to find out causes of death and look for evidence of the killer, it was her own failures that led to this. 

Dan’s in the bathroom again. She can almost hear the sound of retching in the distance if she puts her mind to it. He’s been practically manic in the last few hours, driven mad with grief at bodies he’ll probably never even see, thrown into a ditch or burnt on a bonfire like useless waste. 

All they can do now is try to find the location of their bodies- or, maybe, just them. Alive. There’s slim hope for their survival and they could receive an email to confirm their mortality at any moment, but without proof Ella still has faith that they’re okay. 

And that they’re going to be okay.

****************************  
The next few hours in the near-silent room pass by almost comfortably. Lucifer still has his arm round her, and the regular sound of his inhales and exhales put her mind at ease for the time being. She could stay there, within the cocoon of his embrace, forever. 

Eventually, though, she forces herself up and disentangles herself from him, leaving him to doze restlessly. She has to at least try to figure something out, something to help them possibly escape.

The lock on the door is impenetrable, and without Lucifer’s strength they’re not getting out that way. She tries herself to budge it but the only result is frustration and exhaustion, and she has to bite her lip to stop from yelling out. She doesn’t want to wake Lucifer when there’s nothing he can do with it anyway. 

Next, she searches the room for anything to help them. There’s the bucket, but aside from having an odour strong enough to bowl someone over, it’s of no use. 

That’s literally it. All they have in this cold room is a bucket and a fallen angel. Both of which are looking pretty worse for wear. 

Lucifer especially. 

The pallor and dark circles are back, worse than ever. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. The gentle rise and fall of both his chest and his wings is getting fainter, harder to see. 

She sits down in front of him after surveying the room, wanting to just observe him, to take all of him in before it’s too late. The still-neat pocket square, the light stubble, the unruly curls, the contrast of his dark eyelashes against his skin, everything. She takes a picture in her mind of his every feature and pieces the parts together to form an image of him, to be stored at the forefront of her brain for when he’s no longer there. 

And in the face of doom, she realises that it doesn’t matter who he is, really. Who his parents are and the way society has presented him. Because, despite everything she now knows, she can’t deny her feelings for him. She can’t deny, also, the past they’ve had together before she knew he was the Devil. 

When he’d put himself in the face of danger every time for her, to the minute details in the way he knows her coffee order off by heart and would bring one to her every morning without fail. 

Chloe discovers that she wants that, too. The domesticity. She wants to wake up next to him in the morning and take Trixie to the park with him, before coming home for a cooked dinner from her favourite fallen angel. She wants the sleepy nights on the sofa watching TV with his arm around her as Trixie dozes across their laps.   
More than anything, she wants him. 

‘Lucifer’ she says gently, tapping on his shoulder to rouse him. The lump in her throat only enlarges when it takes a few seconds for him to even open his eyes and mutter a vague ‘huh?’ noise. 

‘I need to tell you something’ she states, heart thudding. 

‘And what’s that, darling?’ he murmurs, blinking slowly.

‘I love you.’ She blurts. 

There’s silence aside from his rasping breaths until he lets out a wheezing chuckle. 

‘What?’ she says, breaking into a smile and beginning to laugh with him. ‘What’s so funny?’

His laugh quickly turns into a choking cough, which eventually fades enough for him to speak. ‘Good...one.... Detective.... nearly had me.’

Her smile dissolves instantly. ‘Lucifer, I’m serious. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that but I really do love you.’

He looks at her with a strange expression on his face until she can see the beginnings of tears swirling in his eyes. ‘No you don’t.’ He croaks. 

‘I do.’

‘You can’t.’ He says. ‘You can’t... not now. Please don’t, Chloe.’ His voice is barely above a whisper, shaking like she’s never heard before. 

‘Why?’ 

‘Because... because I need you to be able to.... carry on. Without me.’ He affixes her with a sad look, eyebrows creased. ‘You will... carry on, won’t you?’

Her heart sinks. ‘Lucifer, I... I don’t know.’

‘You have to.’ He says, blinking rapidly. ‘Please, Chloe... Say you’ll carry on.’

Seeing his heartbroken face, she nods uncertainly and takes his hand. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Good... because...’ he clears his throat. ‘Once I can... get you out of here... I won’t be able to... hold on for much longer. I need to know... you’ll carry on... so I can let go.’

Her voice wobbles. ‘Not yet, though, right?’

He smiles weakly. ‘Not yet, darling.’


End file.
